No Rest for the Weary
by MaryRuthScott
Summary: Sansa/Tyrion! Suddenly on her own, Sansa struggles to manage as she wonders who to trust and where to hide. Now, finally standing on her own, she comes face to face with the one person she'd never thought to see again - her husband. (Full Summary in first chapter)
1. Chapter 1

**_Full Summary:_**

Suddenly on her own, Sansa struggles to manage as she wonders who to trust and where to hide. Now, finally standing on her own, she comes face to face with the one person she'd never thought to see again - her husband.

Tyrion has managed to convince Danerys Stormborn that her nephews claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than her own. As the King keeps him close, the political games surround him once again, and this time he's playing on his own terms. Can he actually get everything he wants?

As King's Landing and Westeros struggle to pick up the pieces following Cercei's disasterous rule, everyone is trying to put their lives back in order. But Jon Snow's desperate pleas for help cannot go ignored.

The clouds have come, the snow is falling. Winter has arrived.

 ** _Author's Note:_** Hi, I'm MaryRuth. Last year my daughter challenged me to write GoT fanfiction and I gave it a try. I've never watched the TV show, so this is based on the books. It picks up roughly at the end of Dancing With Dragons. Hope you enjoy it, be gentle! I've got a good bit of buffer on this, will update weekly on Tuesdays.

 ** _Chapter 1_**

Sansa stared moodily down at the waves crashing against the stone cliffs. A light snow was falling, growing heavier by the minute, and ominous clouds hung low overhead. Below her, the streets of Gulltown were beginning to empty as everyone sought their evening meal, the comforts of family and hearth, or just shelter from the oncoming storm. The thought of family sent a pang of pain through her. But it wasn't as sharp as it used to be, not a sharp, searing pain. Just a deep, dull, ache, the kind that wouldn't easily go away. At least she'd stopped crying incessantly.

A soft knock at the door had her turning her head, as Gretchel hurried over and opened it, admitting Ser Lothor Brune. He nodded to her, speaking to the master and the other knight in the room, smiling and accepting a cup of hot spiced wine from Gretchel as he took a seat in front of the cheerfully crackling fireplace.

They all were silent for long moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Maester Coleman sighed loudly. "What are we going to do?" he asked quietly.

"I don't understand why that's even a question," the knight, Ser Harry, said with a small frown. "We'll return home, to one of the houses of the Lords of the Vale. What else would we do?"

"We can't." Sansa forced herself to speak, even as she kept her eyes on the street, watching the last few stragglers hurrying towards their homes. "That's the first place she'd look for him. We can't go back there."

"Look for who?" Ser Harry asked, his confusion obvious. "Who's looking?"

"Lord Robert," the Maester said quietly.

Sansa took a deep breath before turning away from the window. When news had come to them a few days before that Lord Petyr had been killed by a would be thief – and that the thief had lost his life as well – she'd been stunned, and instantly suspicious. At first she was relieved. No more kisses and too intimate embraces, no more seeing that look in his eye, like he was a starving man and she was dinner. But her relief had been momentary, over before it could fully form, replaced by a burgeoning terror. She was Sansa Stark - Lady Tyrion Lannister - and there was a bounty on her head. Only a few weeks ago, a mercenary had accosted her as she'd been out walking, trying to clear her head after a particularly grueling day of Robert's tantrums. Ser Lothor had appeared out of nowhere and killed the man before he'd known the older knight was there. Lord Petyr had kept the entire incident a secret but from a few of his trusted knights, whom he'd told that the incident was Cercei trying to get to Lord Robert. But that night Sansa had sat tearfully silent while Gretchel cut off her long hair, then deepened the remaining cap of curls and waves to black. The color made her look sallow and sickly, which is exactly what Lord Petyr had wanted. No one looked too closely at the sick, he'd said. In addition, Gretchel tightly bound Sansa's breasts every morning, until they were hardly noticeable. Lord Petyr had been the only thing keeping her out of the Queen Regent's hands. Now there was nothing and no one to save her, but herself. She'd lain awake all night, thinking. She wished that she had Tyrion's gift of strategy, but she didn't. She was scared witless, and she had no idea of what to do. But as she'd lain there, crying, she'd forced herself to think. And she'd come up with a plan.

"Why would anyone be looking for the little lord?" Harry asked, still obviously confused.

"Because he is Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East. He also no longer has parents or guardians," Ser Lothor said, his voice grave. "Which makes him a ward of the King. And the Queen Regent."

"Who needs all of the allies she can get," Sansa made herself say as she walked towards the group. She stopped and picked up a cup of spiced wine off of the tray, using it to warm her hands. "Her son's throne is in danger. The Vale is a stronghold, she needs to be in control of it. And the only thing standing in the way of that is a frail, sickly, nine year old boy. You've only just joined us, Ser Harry, so perhaps my lord father didn't have a chance to tell you. There's already been one attempt on his life."

The young knight's eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. "What? When?"

"A few weeks ago," Ser Lothor said gruffly. "Lord Petyr felt it best if too many people didn't know, so that there was no chance word would get back to the little lord. The last thing we need is for him to be frightened."

"I can't quite believe that my lord father's death is an isolated incident. And the only person who would benefit from Robert's death is Cercei," Sansa said quietly. She knew that Ser Harry was Robert's heir, he was a part of Lord Petyr's plan for her salvation. She was supposed to charm him so that he'd agree to marry her, then become her defender and champion to regain Winterfell. But although Ser Harry was certainly handsome, she felt uncomfortable with him. He treated her exactly the way he treated every other woman. He swaggered and sauntered, charming every woman he came into contact with. Sansa wondered if he felt the same as Lord Petyr – that it wasn't "if" Robert died, but "when." Was he so certain because he knew that he would soon become Lord of the Vale? How much had he been told? Not much, she feared, if anything. Lord Petyr's plan was to use her to take control of the North, she knew. But to what end? she wondered. Would he have them follow the Lannisters? He had to know that would never happen. Stannis Baratheon? It seemed unlikely. So what was his plan, once he'd rallied and gained the support of the Northern Lords?

"By law, we should be notifying the court of Lord Baelish's death, and taking the boy to King's Landing," the Maester said softly. "She's his guardian now.

"We can't," Sansa said insistently, stepping forward. "If we do that, she'll kill him. She'll make it look accidental, or perhaps natural - it's no secret his health isn't the best. She will be appropriately sorry, of course. She'll probably declare a period of mourning. But she'll also gift the Vale to someone else, rather immediately. She needs the Vale in her control."

"If the little lord dies, I'm his heir," Harry said evenly.

"Yes," Sansa said softly. "But to her, you are nothing. You might as well not even exist. The only name she's concerned about is Arryn. And if Robert Arryn is out of the way, she will gift the Vale to some ally of hers. That person's first order of business would be to dispose of you. And I know that you're a skilled knight, and you wouldn't make it easy for them. But how long would it take? How many battles would be fought? How many people would die? No," she said, shaking her head. "My lord father wanted no blood spilled in the Vale. It's why he came to marry Lady Lysa, so that there would be no fighting."

"And so that he would become Lord Protector, let's not forget about that," Harry said cynically.

Sansa nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "I don't disagree that my lord father's marriage was a strategic move on his part. But he wanted no more bloodshed."

"How convenient that Lady Lysa was killed so soon after their wedding," Ser Lothor said into his cup. "It made it so much easier for it to all go the way he wanted."

Sansa paused, surprised to hear the sentiment expressed by the knight. Lord Petyr had trusted him, she'd assumed that Ser Lothor was loyal. She'd been hopeful that he would take her side in this, since he'd been in King's Landing and had to know how treacherous Cercei was. The only way she could keep herself safe was to attach herself to someone else, and the only one left was Robert. If she could convince them that Cercei wanted him dead, that they had to keep him hidden, then perhaps she could remain hidden herself.

"He didn't want that," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "He cared for Lady Lysa very much, they'd know each other since they were children."

"Still. It was….convenient." The large man sipped from his cup.

"Convenient or not, it doesn't matter much now," Gretchel said. "Seems to me the only thing that matters right now is keeping the little lord safe. And if what Alayne is saying is true, what are we supposed to do?"

"How _do_ we know what Alayne is saying is true?" Harry asked skeptically. "She arrived with her father, she's not one of us. She could go back to her own home, to her mother's family. So why is she so concerned about the little lord anyway?"

Sansa stared at him, her eyes wide. They _had_ to believe her. "He's a child," she said, trying not to panic. "He's lost his father, his mother, and his step father, of course I'm concerned! And perhaps you're unaware, Ser Harry, but I was raised in a sept." She forced herself to keep her eyes on his, although her heart was racing and she was shaking in fear. "My mother gave me to the septa's when I was an infant, only days old. She gave them money to support me until she died, but her family refused to take me in, or to have anything to do with me. That's when the septa's contacted my lord father. So, no. I don't have a home or a family to go back to."

"Perhaps you're as strategic as your lord father," Ser Lothor turned and eyed her warily. "What is it you gain from this arrangement, Alayne?"

 _My life_. "As I've said, I've nowhere to go," she whispered, trying to meet the knight's eyes. "The child needs a caregiver, and he's grown fond of me." He doesn't know what I'm up to, she realized with dismay. He can't trust me because he doesn't know what I'm doing. She should have spoken to him beforehand. She had to choose who to trust. But how?

"Let's say for a moment that Alayne is telling the truth," the Maester interrupted her thoughts. "Where would we go?"

They were all silent for a moment, thinking of war torn Westeros. "Seems to me across the sea might be the only safe place for him," Gretchel said heavily.

The Maester shook his head. "When the little lord and his mother left King's Landing by sea, he almost died. He was violently sick. The only thing that would stay down was his mother's milk, and we no longer have Lady Lysa to provide that service so…I think we need to stay on land."

"Land is a dangerous prospect as well," Ser Lothor said heavily. "I think young Harry may be right. We need to seek refuge from the Lords of the Vale. They'll provide protection for the boy, and the queen is too busy with other areas to send an army here."

"No, she won't send an army," Sansa said softly. "She'll send one or two men with instruction to kill him quickly and quietly."

"We can protect him against that," Harry said impatiently. "Especially if we're somewhere difficult to reach, like Gates of the Moon. Lord Royce would surely take in the little lord."

 _But would he take me in_ , Sansa had to wonder.

"Of course Lord Royce would take Lord Robert," Gretchel said. "Any of the lords would. Weren't they demanding that Lord Baelish give them the boy anyway?"

They all nodded, and although Sansa wasn't sure it was the best plan for her, she knew it was the best one for Robert. The Lords of the Vale would ensure his safety, and that he was well educated and provided for. Ser Harry rose from his chair. "I'll send word to Lord Royce," he said. "We should leave as soon as possible."

"No," Sansa said, stopping him. Everyone looked at her, Harry's annoyance obvious on his face. "If no one knows what you're doing, they're less inclined to try to stop you," she said softly. "I know I can't be the only one of us who does not believe my lord father's death was truly an accident. We don't know if there was anyone else involved, or anyone else still out there waiting. Lord Royce won't turn us away. There's no need to send word, we'll just go. We can tell him what happened when we arrive."

"I agree," Ser Lothor said, his eyes firmly on Sansa.

"As do I," Maester Coleman said.

Harry sighed. "It makes sense," he said grudgingly. "We'll keep our leaving a secret until we actually go."

"Which won't be until after this storm passes," Ser Lothor said, looking at the heavily falling snow outside.

Gretchel sighed heavily. "It's going to be a hard trip," she said worriedly. "I don't know if the little lord is up to it."

Sansa didn't either. "We'll have to do the best we can," she said quietly.

Everyone rose to leave, filing out of the door quietly. Ser Lothor was the last. "Gretchel, I'd like a word alone with Lady Alayne." She nodded, sparing a glance to Sansa before gathering the cups and tray, closing the door softly behind her.

He gestured to the seat next to him, near the fire, and Sansa walked slowly forward, glancing at him warily.

"I don't know if you remember," he said kindly when she'd settled into the chair, "but I was on the Merling King with you on the trip from King's Landing."

Sansa shook her head. "I was ill for most of that journey," she said quietly.

"I remember," he said. "You couldn't keep much food down. Lord Baelish wasn't sure if it was sea sickness, or your distress at everything that had happened. We knew what we were taking you from.

I don't know if I've ever told you, but I met your father – your true father - long before you all came to King's Landing," he said. "Years ago, you were probably just a babe. I'd been in the Barrowlands, trying to find work, and Lord Eddard and his men came into the inn I was staying at. It was snowing heavily, and they were trying to find rooms for the night. He was on his way home, he said. The innkeeper gave him rooms, and they all sat downstairs with everyone else, eating their meal and laughing and joking. Your father served his men, he would go and get refills of ale for them, even went back to the kitchen and got more bread for them. The next morning, we were all getting ready to leave at the same time, they heading north, me heading south. My horse had lost a shoe, and my money was tight but I knew I had to have a horse. But before I could say anything, I saw a coin fly through the air to the stable master. 'The knight's horse needs a shoe,' he said. The stable master came right over and took my horse, all the while smiling and saying 'Aye, Lord Stark, as you say.' " Ser Lothor looked awed at the memory. "Your father just smiled at me and said, 'It's hard enough being a man alone on the road, but a man alone, on the road, with no horse? That's an impossible situation. Safe travels, Ser Knight.' And they rode away. The stable master not only reshod my horse, he gave me a full satchel of food – bread, cheese, dried meat, and apples – to take with me because your father had given him so much."

Sansa smiled, tears filling her eyes. "Such a simple thing," she said softly. "But Father always said the simple things meant the most."

"I don't have a particular allegiance to the North," he said. "Or the south, or the east, or the west. But your father was a good man, and I was saddened when he was killed. And the last command Lord Baelish gave to me was to keep you safe. He paid me well to do so, and even though dead men pay no salaries, I'll still do my best."

"You're the captain of Robert's guard," Sansa said quietly. "You'll still be paid." She thought quickly of the package Lord Petyr had given her before they'd left the Vale, urging her to keep it hidden away, and their secret. Perhaps it was time she opened it. If there were gold in it she could use it to take care of herself, perhaps to secure some hedge knights for protection.

"I'm not interested in returning to the Vale," he said dismissively. "It's too cold there for my tastes. And while I agree that returning to Gates of the Moon is best for the boy, I don't know that it's best for you."

Sansa couldn't argue, since she'd thought the same thing herself.

"The way I see it Lady Sansa, you can go north to White Harbor. Lord Manderly was a friend to your father, and a loyal supporter of your brother."

"Lord Petyr said he'd joined with the Lannisters," she said, glancing up at him.

But Ser Lothor shook his head. "Don't believe everything you hear," he said. "Lord Manderly is no fool. He knows when to bow down and appear beaten if it's the only way to stay alive. And because the Lannisters think he's loyal, they wouldn't think to look for you there. He could keep you safe until this war is over and everything is settled."

Sansa sighed when he fell silent, then nodded slightly. She had nowhere else to go, and no one else to trust.

"Or." Ser Lothor said. When he didn't continue, Sansa looked up to find his steady gaze on her. "An army has appeared in the south, near Tarth. Rumors are it's the Golden Company."

"I've never heard of the Golden Company," she said with a small frown.

"They're late of Pentos, I believe," he continued. "They've taken several castle's, including Cape Wraith, Griffin's Roost, and some of the smaller estates as well. Word is they're headed to Storm's End."

Sansa didn't understand why he was telling her this. "Which king are they supporting?" she asked hesitantly. It couldn't be Lord Stannis if they were planning to take Storm's End.

"They haven't officially declared support for anyone," he said. He glanced around the room, as if they weren't alone, then leaned towards her and lowered his voice. "But the rumor is there's a Targaryen in their midst."

"The girl?" Sansa gasped on a whisper. "The one with the dragons?"

Ser Lothor shook his head. "A boy," he whispered. "It's said he's the youngest son of King Rhaegar."

"But he was killed," Sansa said, eyes wide.

"Don't believe everything you hear," he said again. "Unless someone knows the child intimately, a babe just looks like a babe. We all know that a babe was killed and its bloody corpse laid at the feet of King Robert, but who's to say it was Prince Aegon?"

Sansa just stared at him wide eyed for long moments, her mind spinning. "So," she said softly, slowly. "What do you think to do?"

"I think to go find him, and swear fealty," Ser Lothor whispered, again looking over his shoulder, even though they were alone in the room. "And I think it's not a bad idea for you, as well. Go to him, present yourself and ask for the protection of marriage. And in return, you will give him the North. Those northern lords named your brother King," he said in a rushed whisper. "They'd be giddy to have a Stark on the throne. With you by his side, they'd flock to his banner. And if we tell Harry and Lord Royce of the plan, I can't believe the Lords of the Vale wouldn't fall in, as well. The Lannisters have no love in this land."

"I can't marry him," she said instantly. "I'm already married."

"My lady, Tyrion Lannister is most likely dead, and if he's not he will be soon if he's stupid enough to still be in Westeros. And the Imp has never struck me as a stupid man. If he's still alive he's long gone, across the sea. And he'll stay there, because even when the Lannisters lose this war – and they will lose, make no mistake, that fool of a queen has no idea of what she's doing or what needs to be done – he's still a kingslayer and a kinslayer. No, my lady. I would think you're free to do whatever you wish. This boy king has a better chance than the others to take the throne, and although his grandfather was The Mad King, there are those who remember his father with love. I believe – and Lord Baelish did as well – that this boy could win it all."

Sansa stared at him, trying to think clearly. With Lord Manderly, she may have some protection – she remembered him well, a huge, fat man with a loud laugh and a ready smile. He always had a compliment for her whenever he'd seen her. And when it was all over – what then? Depending on who won the throne, she might still have a price on her head.

"Think it over," Ser Lothor urged her. "This storm won't blow away overnight, I'm sure you have at least two days, if not three." He rose, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "Whatever you decide, I'll see you safely to your destination, that I promise you."

She was still sitting, staring into the fire, when Gretchel returned. "Is everything alright, milady?" she asked hesitantly.

Sansa smiled. "Yes, it's fine. We just needed to talk about some things regarding my lord father." The women prepared for bed, Sansa sighing in relief when the bindings across her breasts were removed. But while Gretchel snored softly from her place near the fire, Sansa laid awake, staring at the ceiling unseeingly.

 _Think_ , she told herself sternly. _You have to think!_ If she went to the new king, she could offer him the North. She was fairly confident that she could, because Ser Lothor was right – her brother had been crowned King of the North, they'd followed him literally to his death. Surely they'd rally behind their beloved Direwolf if she went to the Dragon? She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. She knew what they all thought of her – that she was a silly, stupid girl. And perhaps she had been, she thought sadly. But was there really something so terrible about a girl of ten and two who wanted everything to be pretty and perfect, like the songs and stories she so loved? New dresses and ribbons, platters of lemon cakes and an afternoon sharing needlework and gossip with Jeyne – those days were forever gone. Never again would her mother smile and patiently instruct her on the duties of a proper lady. Never again would she hear her father's laugh, or sit as he listened intently to her ramble about her day. Never again would she see her brother Jon. She remembered the way he'd proudly admired the slightly crooked embroidery work on the shirt she'd made for his name day two years ago. He'd hugged her tightly and declared it his favorite gift. He had proudly boasted of her skill, and had worn the shirt regularly, until he grown too tall for it. Even Arya was gone, wild, stubborn, headstrong Arya. And the babies…..she remembered afternoons playing with her brothers, running through the gardens with Bran, rolling a ball with Ricken. And Robb. Proud, strong Robb, who took very seriously his future as Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.

Sansa turned to her side as the hot tears fell from her eyes. She knew they all thought she was an empty headed girl but she'd been taught to be a _lady_ , not a warrior. War and strategy were beyond her. She sat up slowly, wiping her eyes, trying not to sniff too loudly and wake Gretchel.

She was sad to think that Lord Tyrion was dead. He'd been so kind to her, and she'd been so brokenhearted by everything that had happened she couldn't even appreciate it. She wished she could have told him thank you, at the least. He wasn't like his sister and father, or even like Ser Jamie – although she supposed he was alright. She couldn't imagine Lord Tywin or Cercei being genuinely kind, but Lord Tyrion had been. She'd been so terrified and heartsick at the thought of marrying him, unable to see past his deformities to the man beneath.

 _"_ _Tyrion. My name is Tyrion, Sansa."_ Then that sweet stumbling speech about how he could be kind. _"I could be…I could be good to you."_

And he had been, unfailingly. He'd refused to bed her, and treated her like she was fine china, always so careful. By the time of Joffrey's wedding she'd already felt slightly guilty about leaving him there to bear the brunt of Cercei and Joffrey's anger. And then to find out from Lord Petyr that she was guiltier than he, for she was the one who'd actually smuggled in the poison…he'd done that deliberately, she realized now. He'd probably been able to tell she was wavering in her decision to go, and so he told her that while her husband was innocent, she was not. And so she'd played right into his hands and gone along quietly.

But she couldn't summon any anger towards Lord Petyr. Regardless of what had happened, she was alive. And everyone kept saying that Lord Tyrion was dead, or about to be, but she wasn't sure. He was resourceful, and quick witted. If anyone was going to survive, it would be Tyrion Lannister. _That's who I need to ally myself with,_ she thought in an unexpected rush of longing. Tyrion would know exactly what to do, exactly how to proceed. While all she could do was sit and cry.

Rising silently, she wrapped a blanket around herself and sat near the window, opening one of the shutters so that she could gaze down at the silent, white streets below. Beyond them, the black waves crashed against the shore, so dark they were indistinguishable from the clouds overhead. She sat there for a long time, watching the snow fall while trying to sort her thoughts, then finally returning to bed only to dream of a small man with golden hair and mismatched eyes, who held her hand as he guided her through a fierce battle to a newly rebuilt Winterfell that flew banners of deep blue, with a golden lion and a silver gray direwolf lying side by side.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

Ser Lothor proved correct in his weather predictions, as it took three days for the storm to pass. Sansa spent the time playing with Robert, embroidering a handkerchief for him, and thinking on Ser Lothor's options. She had a feeling that she could go to Lord Manderly and spent the rest of the war resting in comfort. And when it was all over, he would help her to begin again, wherever she wanted. She was certain of it. It was the safest option she had, aside from the journey there, which would probably be harrowing in the winter.

But she wasn't going to go to Lord Manderly.

Her family had died trying to right wrongs. Her father was beheaded for no other reason than he was a good man. Her mother and brother died trying to end the tyrannous rule of a monster. Her sister was gods only knew where – if she was still alive – and her baby brothers had been killed, their bodied burned by a boy they'd grown up with, whom she'd always thought of as a friend.

How could she remain safe?

She knew that if she did it, she might die. But, she reasoned, she might die anyway. And at least this way she could die fighting. _I am a Direwolf, a Stark of Winterfell,_ she told herself. _I am strong. I am brave._ But she didn't feel brave. Her stomach and bowels churned constantly, her hands shook, and she fought the urge to burst into tears. _Enough crying!_

After dinner the next evening, Maester Coleman, Ser Harry, Lord Gerald Grafton, and Lord Lyonel Corbray joined them for a meeting that Ser Lothor had arranged. Sansa sat quietly as they all chatted over wine and the small cakes the inn mistress had been convinced to provide for them. Finally, Lord Corbray spoke.

"While I appreciate this time to discuss the Eyrie's affairs with you, I have no wish to be out too late this evening," he said, not unkindly. "The snow is fresh, and the temperature is dropping. Soon, the road will be iced again. So perhaps we could get to the purpose of this meeting?"

Everyone looked to Ser Lothor, who looked to Sansa. She nodded slightly, and he began. "I believe we all know that Lord Baelish had his own reasons for doing things, reasons that he preferred to keep to himself. I've been in his service for some time now, and I know quite a bit of why he did what he did. Lady Alayne told us a few days ago that Lord Baelish wanted no blood shed in the Vale, that's why he'd agreed to marry Lady Lysa. But there was another reason that he chose to come north. And he brought that reason with him." He fell silent, his gaze resting on Sansa.

"Lady Alayne?" Lord Corbray asked, confusion evident in his voice.

She knew they were all looking at her. _I am brave._ "My name is not Alayne Stone," she said quietly, raising her eyes. "My name is Sansa Stark." She let those words settle for a bit before she continued. "Lord Petyr helped me to escape from Queen Cercei and King's Landing, and brought me to the Vale because he knew my Aunt Lysa would help to keep me safe. His original plan was to wed me to my cousin, Lord Robert, and to ask the Lords of the Vale to join the Northern Lords in defeating the Lannisters. But once he arrived…" she sighed shakily. "It's obvious that Lord Robert is frail, and the chances that he would survive, especially after his mother's death, seemed slim. And so Lord Petyr bartered a marriage contract with Ser Harry's aunt, in the hopes that when he was raised to Lord of the Vale, we could still continue with the same plan."

"Sounds good to me," Harry grinned.

"Then he heard rumors of an army in the south," Ser Lothor said. "They've been unstoppable so far."

Lord Grafton nodded. "I've heard talk of them as well," he said gravely. "Did Lord Baelish have any idea of who they are?"

Ser Lothor nodded. "The Golden Company," he said. "And there is a Targaryan in their midst."

"The girl has finally crossed the sea," Ser Harry said musingly. "I would have think we'd have all seen or heard of her dragons by now."

"Not the girl," Ser Lothor corrected. "A boy. The youngest son of Prince Rhaegar. Prince Aegon."

The Maester nodded slowly. "There were always rumors that the youngest boy lived," he said.

"And he would be the right age," Lord Corbray added thoughtfully. "Ten and six, mayhaps even ten and seven by now. Prince Rheagear was well loved by the people, and especially if this boy looks like him…he would draw many to his cause."

"I haven't seen him, so I've no word on how he looks. But I believe, as you do, that people will support him. So did Lord Baelish. It was the reason he dared the weather and brought us to Gulltown. He intended that he and Lady Sansa would make their way south."

"His untimely death has changed the plans a bit," Sansa said. "But Ser Lothor and I believe that going to the Targaryan king is still my best chance at survival."

"And what will you offer him?" Lord Corbray asks curiously.

"Men," Sansa said simply. "I can provide him with the support of the Northern Lords. I would hope that I can offer him the support of the Lords of the Vale as well. In return, I would ask that the North – including the Eyrie – be returned to independent rule. Or at the least that House Stark be allowed to continue as Warden of the North."

"The support of the North but six kingdoms instead of seven," Harry said shrewdly.

"Six kingdom are better than none at all," Ser Lothor said. "The queen is destroying us, bit by bit." No one could argue that.

"Are you certain you want to do this, child?" the Maester asked softly. "Surely there's somewhere you could go….."

Sansa smiled sadly. "I'm sure I could go to White Harbor – as Ser Lothor originally suggested – and Lord Manderly would be happy to take me in. He would keep me safe and comfortable until the war is over, and even after if necessary. But…..how can I?" she asked, fighting tears, her voice beginning to quiver. "How can I live comfortably, sipping wine and eating cakes, while my entire family lie in cold graves, each one dug in one form or another by a Lannister? No," she said, shaking her head. "To answer your question Maester Coleman, no. Not only am I not certain I want to do this, I'm rather certain that I don't. What I really want is to go home. To laugh with my brothers, be annoyed by my sister, watch my parents walk hand in hand through the godswoods. But I cannot, because I have no home to go to, nor a family waiting. I cannot sit idly by. I must _fight._ "

"You may die," Harry said gravely.

Sansa's fear was plain on her face as the tears fell from her eyes. "Yes," she whispered shakily. "There is that. But I've realized," she paused, swallowing hard. _I am brave._ "I've realized that we all die, eventually. And if I can choose, I will die fighting."

The Maester's eyes were suspiciously bright, and Harry nodded his approval, a grim smile on his face. Lord Grafton chuckled. "Blood will show," he said. "You're a Stark. By the gods, you're Ned Stark's daughter."

Lord Corbray smiled slowly. "I'll rally the Lords of the Vale," he said. "And if young Harry agrees, we can send him to rally the Northern Lords." Harry nodded.

"First, I need you to get Lord Robert to safety," Sansa said quickly. "Once word of Lord Petyr's death reaches the Queen, she'll send for him. She musn't be allowed to take him," she said urgently.

Lord Corbray nodded in understanding. "No, you're right, of course. We'll see to him."

"Thank you, my lord," she said gratefully. "Lord Robert can be difficult in the best of times, but he is only a child. And in the last two years, he's lost his father, mother, and step father. He's all alone."

"We'll leave in the morning," Ser Harry said confidently. "We'll get the boy back to the Vale, Gate to the Moon is the goal. It will be hard going in this weather, but we should have him safely locked away before the Queen known her Lord Protector is dead."

"There's a ship at the dock that plans to leave on tomorrow's evening tide, if the weather holds," Ser Lothor said. "Lady Stark, four knights and myself will be on it. Gods willing, we'll be to Tarth within a few weeks."

They all nodded and rose to leave, Ser Harry and the Maester hugging her. She'd already said goodbye to Robert, although he thought she would be joining him in a few week's time. Gretchel had asked to go with the little lord, so Sansa was keeping another one of the maids with her, one suggested by Ser Lothor specifically because she had some training with a sword and dagger. Sansa wasn't looking forward to being on a ship for weeks, but she hoped it would be worth it.

The next morning she rose before dawn with Gretchel to see them off. Robert was weepy that she wasn't going with them, and she kissed him and held him tight. She hated lying to him, but it had been almost a month since his last shaking spell and she prayed that it would hold. He'd enjoyed the trip to Gulltown more than anyone had expected, and was pleased to be returning home, although he was saddened about Lord Petyr. Ser Harry had assured him that he would take care of him, and he was excited to see Lady Myranda again. Before they left, Harry pulled her aside.

"If you still wish to arrange a marriage, I'm happy to oblige. Just think on it," he urged, reaching for her hand. "Me Lord of the Vale, Warden of the East, and you Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North. We could have it all," he said fiercely. "Even the Lannisters would tremble in fear of us and our power. We would be the true King and Queen of the North." Sansa sighed, nodding. Harry hadn't paid her a passing thought until he'd discovered who she was. She knew that ultimately, her house and title would be her best asset in arranging her own marriage – it was why the Lannisters had wed her to Tyrion, after all, to have a claim to Winterfell and it's lands. And although she had learned firsthand that Ser Petyr was right – _Life is not a song, sweetling_ \- she was still young enough to want a husband who actually wanted her, and who would treat her well.

The sky was clear, and there were no signs of clouds on the horizon. It was a perfect day to leave. She and Alinor broke their fast in their room, then she sent the girl to return the dishes to the kitchen, and to wake Ser Lothor and tell him that she needed to pick up a few things before they left and she needed a guard, and for them to wait for her downstairs.

While Alinor was gone, she knelt before her chest and pulled out the package at the bottom. It was wrapped in a length of scratchy brown wool, tied with twine. Curiously, she cut through the string and unwrapped the wool, then pulled out the heavy fabric. Several long packages, wrapped in paper and tied in string, fell from between its folds.

The hooded cloak was heavy velvet, white, with seed pearls sewn throughout. The edges and inside were lined with thick, white fur. On the back, a seated direwolf had been embroidered in silvery gray thread, with angry eyes and its mouth caught mid-snarl. It was beautifully made, and the seated direwolf brought a sudden rush of sadness over Lady. She wondered what it was for as she laid it gently on the bed, then kneeled to pick up the long, slender packages. There eight of them in all, each as long as her forearm. She could tell without opening them what they were, and she stood for a moment, her heart pounding. Of course, the Master of Coin would want to bring coin. And it wouldn't be wise for him to carry it all, or for the Maester to carry it all either. Well, at least she didn't have to worry about them starving or going without shelter. Maester Coleman had given her some of the money he'd been entrusted with before they left, and she also had the small pouch of gold that Lord Petyr had been carrying when he was killed, and another fuller one that had been amongst his belongings, along with a few other things he'd had that she could use as currency and bargaining tools. She refolded the cloak, putting the packages back between the folds, then rewrapped the package and put it away, taking inventory of her meager contents. Three serviceable dresses – including the one she was wearing – two changes of small clothes, a sliver of heavy gardenia scented soap, a package of the black root powder they used to dye her hair, and a pair of serviceable shoes.

She and Alinor tried to make quick work of the shopping, accompanied by Ser Lothor and Ser Kiers. At the first shop she purchased two premade dresses, knowing she and Alinor could alter them on their journey. She considered a third, but decided against it – she wanted it all to fit into her trunk. On their way out, Ser Lothor took her lightly by the arm. "Is this wise, my lady?" he asked softly, a scowl on his face. "We don't know what we're going to be facing when we arrive, perhaps we should be more careful with our resource?"

"I know what we'll be facing," Sansa answered in a whisper. "A king. And I cannot present myself to a king looking a pauper. If only for that one day, I must look my station. I must look like a queen." Ser Lothor looked as though he wanted to argue, but decided against it. Sighing, he nodded, although his scowl only deepened when she purchased a bar of water lily scented soap, a pair of shoes (only one, most people wouldn't see them from beneath her gowns, she reasoned), a few pots of paints for her eyes and lips, along with a heavy body cream, and a small bottle of fragranced oil. She also purchased a pair of the heavy iron curlers Alinor would need to make her hair presentable, a few lightly jeweled hairpins, a pair of well made earrings with a matching necklace, two small bolts of cloth, an even smaller amount of lace, threads in a variety of colors, more sewing needles, a small bottle of honey, and a small bottle of mineral oil. And finally, a tin of biscuits, and tea made of ginger root, to hopefully keep her stomach calm on the journey.

Well before the sun had set they were aboard the Captain's Fancy, waiting to depart. The ship was large and comfortable, as it was used to transport passengers, although during colder weather they mainly acted as a supply vessel. She and Alinor had a large cabin with comfortable berths, a desk and chair near the window, a separate table to eat, plenty of room to move about, and even a dedicated area for bathing, separated from the main part of the cabin by a lovely folding screen, with delicate paintings of brightly colored fields of flowers and trees backed by the snow covered Vale.

Sansa looked at the room in surprise. "More careful with our resources?" she asked Ser Lothor with a smile.

He chuckled. "Our accommodations were not expensive, my lady. We're probably the only passengers on this trip, so we're given the best."

They were in fact, not the only passengers. Another man was traveling south as well, middle aged, with deep brown hair streaked with gray, stern brown eyes, and rigid bearing. "A military man," Ser Lothor said grimly. "Said he's going to see his daughter in Tarth. You'll not be leaving this cabin much."

Sansa nodded, thoughts of the attempt on her life never far from her mind. "Well, if this journey is anything like our last, we won't need to worry about it," she said lightly. "I'll be too sick to even consider leaving."

But despite the queasiness that began almost the moment the ship left the dock, she managed to keep the contents of her stomach. The ginger tea and biscuits helped, as did the tea cook sent to her when he heard that she wasn't well, made of boiled lemons and herbs, sweetened with a bit of honey. She and Alinor made the adjustments to the premade gowns, and using the fabric and lace they bought, turned one of her existing gowns into a suitable traveling dress.

At every stop, two of the knights would leave to visit a few of the pubs on the docks, while another would accompany Alinor to the market, to see what news and gossip they could hear. Two knights would always stay on board with Sansa, who never left the cabin. She didn't mind staying inside, as the thought of the salt air and ever present smell of fish on a dock made her stomach turn. She made a few lacy handkerchiefs, and read a few books from the Captain's library – one a large history of the kings of Westeros (which had become a subject of interest), and another slender book of folklore and legends. She also tried to struggle through a large volume on historic military battles and their strategies. She didn't understand it, and trying to sort it out made her head spin. However, when Ser Milton found her trying to read through it, he kindly sat with her and explain some of it, using her biscuits and spools of thread as visual examples. After that, the knights would spend time talking with her about what she was reading. It still made her head spin, but it helped quite a bit. They also spent some time trying to teach her how to handle a dagger.

"There's no time to train you with a sword," Ser Lothor said. "Perhaps later. But for now, I'd feel better if you knew at least the basics of how to defend yourself. Surprise will be your best weapon, since no one will expect you to be armed, much less have any idea of how to use it," It was easier than learning military strategy and as she was very interested in staying alive, she paid close attention.

The morning they docked in Tarth her stomach was churning more than usual. "Nerves," Ser Lothor said, as they all crowded in to she and Alinor's cabin. "We all feel them." Everyone nodded.

"It'll be alright, milady," Alinor said, taking Sansa's hand. "You'll see."

Sansa gave her a tightlipped smiled as Ser Lothor and one of the knights went to visit the dockside taverns and find what news he could, and Alinor left with one other. They were all back within a few hours, Alinor with a lemon cake for Sansa.

"Lord Jon Connington has returned home," Ser Lothor said. "It is he who's leading the Golden Company."

Sansa paused, thinking, gazing unseeingly at the small cake on the table before her. "He was exiled by the Mad King for not capturing King Robert," she said slowly. "He was a friend to Prince Rhegear."

"It would make sense that he would be trusted with the young prince," Ser Milton said. "He was military strategist, and seasoned soldier."

"That's who he was," Sansa said. "What do we know about him now?"

"Nothing," Ser Lothor said. "There isn't too much information out there. They're keeping quiet. There are whispers of ships landing down near Rainwood, but there's no town or city there, not even a port."

"How many ships?" Ser Kiers asked.

Ser Lothor shook his head. "We have no way of knowing. I heard as few as two or as many as a dozen."

"What about in the markets, Alinor?" Sansa asked, reaching for the cake. It smelled delicious. "Thank you, by the way, for the cake."

Alinor grinned. "You're welcome, milady. I remember they're a favorite of yours. As for news, it's mostly the same as what the men heard. Ships docking where there's no dock, and the Lord Connington has returned home. I heard that a few men have gone down to join them, swear fealty and all, but nothing more. And nothing about the king. But I did hear news out of King's Landing," she said. "Apparently, both the Queen Regent and Queen Margaery have been arrested by the Lord High Septon, for crimes against the faith – treason and debauchery. Ser Kevan Lannister has stepped in to help keep things under control."

Sansa stared at her in shock. "The Septon arrested Cercei and Margaery? The fat one?"

"No, there's a new High Septon, I believe the fat one finally died," Ser Lothor said with a small frown. "Or was killed. I don't recall."

"Evidently, Queen Margaery's father, Lord Tyrell, was holding Storm's End under siege when word of his daughter's imprisonment came," Alinor continued. "He packed up and left. He left a small group of soldiers there, but not enough to stop anything."

"So Storm's End is left wide open, just as the young prince arrives," Ser Kies said.

"As both the Queen and the Queen Regent are arrested, and I'm sure everything in King's Landing is in complete disarray." Sansa said slowly. "Isn't that convenient timing."

"Isn't it?" Ser Lothor said cynically. "He's got someone on the inside. Someone powerful."

"Who's powerful enough to have the Queen's arrested?" Ser Milton asked. They were all silent for a moment, thinking on that.

"Well, whoever it is, hopefully they'll appreciate the support of the north," Sansa sighed. "Is there any reason to change our plan?"

"Not that I've heard," Ser Lothor answered. They gathered their things and left the ship, Ser Lothor stopping to speak with the Captain. The Captain's Fancy would continue south to the port at Weeping Tower, then return north along the same route it followed down, with the exception that it stopped in King's Landing on the return trip. "If I'm allowed to," the Captain said grimly. "I'm told that they're not allowing ships into the Bay." Ser Lothor made arrangements to re-board on the return trip if their plan didn't work out, and then they went to the inn where he had arranged rooms.

Sansa's stomach appreciated the solid ground beneath her feet more than she let on. She spent a few days lying down resting, trying to regain her strength. Alinor and the others continued their quest for information. Ser Lothor told her that he'd found a boatman who had taken a few people across the river to Griffin's Roost, but he was hesitant to take anyone else.

"He said he's always had a bad feeling about it," Ser Lothor said with a small frown. "Then he found a man hiding in the brush a few miles up from the camp where he drops them. Said the man was terrified and told him that they're killing anyone who attempts to join, so as to avoid spies. The boatman said they were almost away from shore when an arrow came out of nowhere and killed the man. According to the boatman, he barely escaped with his life."

"Or maybe they let him escape with his life so he could tell his tale and dissuade others who'd want to join," Ser Milton said gravely.

"My thoughts exactly," Ser Lothor said.

Sansa's stomach churned and her heart raced. "But would they kill a lady who came?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"We have no way of knowing," Ser Lothor said, wearily.

"Perhaps if she came asking for Lord Connington, instead of the king?" Alinor asked. "Everyone is trying to swear fealty to the boy king, but if she's not asking about him….." she trailed off.

The knights looked thoughtful, and then Ser Kiers nodded. "It could make the difference," he shrugged. "We have no way of knowing."

"We've come all this way," Ser Milton sighed. "We might as well try."

"Easy for you to say," Alinor shot back. "Yours isn't the head he'd be after."

"Actually, _yours_ isn't the head he'd be after," Sansa said wryly. "You're most likely the only one of us who would live. If he kills me, he'll kill all of my knights as well."

"But he may not, immediately," Ser Lothor said thoughtfully. "A highborn lady, come to give him support…he may at least hear you out."

"May," she said. She reached for her cup but pulled her hands back when she realized they were shaking. Alinor grabbed them tightly.

"You won't go alone, my lady," she said fiercly.

"Perhaps I should," she said quietly. She held up a hand when they all started to protest. "None of you came to go to your deaths," she said. "I know that. You said you'd see me safely to my destination," she said to Ser Lothor. "You have. I understand if you go no farther."

"We knew the risks when we agreed to come," Ser Mathew said. The tallest of her knights, he was a silent, middle aged man. He was her favorite instructor in military strategy, he helped her to see the battle plan as pieces to a puzzle. "And I will not send a girl of ten and five into a battle alone."

Sansa smiled gratefully, then chuckled shakily. "Actually, I'm ten and four."

"A mere child," Ser Milton said sadly.

"A child willing to die to save her people," Ser Kiers said. "I will not send you over there alone."

"Nor I," Alinor said.

"Nor I," Ser Milton said.

"Nor I," said Ser Tomas.

"Then it is settled," Ser Lothor said firmly. "We'll hear no more talk of you going alone."

He went off in search of the boatman, while Alinor and Sansa started to prepare her. The started with a hot bath, and then spend a long while washing the black dye out of her hair. It took hours of scrubbing, but finally her hair was its natural auburn. She added a bit of honey and mineral oil to it, to add moisture. Then they pulled out a heavy cream and gray gown to let the wrinkles fall out.

It took two days to find exactly what they needed but finally she stood on the deck of a small ship. The horses and wagon were stored below, while she and Ser Lothor stood at the rail, watching the coastline of Tarth recede. Her stomach was churning, and she gripped the rail tightly. Behind the island the sun was rising, painting the receding landscape in pink and gold. The breeze lifted her hair from her face and she reached up a shaking hand to pull her hood farther forward.

"You look lovely," Ser Lothor said gruffly. She tried to smile but she couldn't. She felt like a lamb being led to slaughter, and she was suddenly certain this wouldn't work. Her stomach was in her throat and her heart pounded in her chest, and she was lightheaded.

"Easy, my lady," Ser Lothor said, stepping closer and placing a hand on her back. "Close your eyes," he commanded, and she obeyed. "Deep breaths," he said. In only a few moments the panic eased, leaving only the nausea that was ever present when she was on a boat. "Let's get you down to the salon," he said. "A cup of your ginger root tea and you'll be alright."

It wasn't a long journey, only a few hours. By midday they'd reached the dock at Griffin's Roost. Ser Tomas and Ser Mathew would be staying aboard with Alinor and their things, along with the ships crew. The captain had been instructed that if they hadn't returned or sent word by evening tide to return to Tarth without them. While Ser Milton went to get the horses, Sansa removed her serviceable heavy cloak and Alinor wrapped her in the heavy velvet and fur cape that Lord Petyr had given her, then gave her the matching sheepskin lined calfskin gloves they'd found tucked into one of the inner pockets. Sansa's left hand found the heavy pouch she'd tucked into one of the cloak's pockets, while her right slipped through the invisible seam in her skirts to find the dagger strapped to her thigh. She looked nervously over to Ser Lothor who stood ready, the cloth bag she'd asked him to carry slung across his broad shoulders, the cloth pouch resting against the small of his back, hidden beneath his heavy cloak.

"Truth is your salvation, Lady Sansa," he reminded her gently. "A young, highborn lady, no family, simply seeking his protection." She nodded as Alinor adjusted one of her jeweled hairpins, then fastening the thin chains across her throat and breasts to keep the cloak tightly closed.

"You look stunning," she said, pulling up Sansa's fur lined hood. "I'll see you in a few hours," she said firmly.

They mounted the horses and rode the short distance to the gatehouse. An older man eyed them warily. "Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, to see Lord Connington," she said, trying to impersonate her mother's authoritative tone.

"Milord didn't mention no visitors," he said, pulling his cloak tighter about his thin frame.

"And yet, here we are," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "And as we've come all this way, would you be so kind to let my lord know that I've arrived?"

He ducked into the gatehouse again, and sent a gray bird flying out of the window towards the castle. Moments later, the same gray bird returned. The man sighed and opened the gate.

"Thank you," she smiled graciously as they passed him to begin the long ride up to the castle. Her heart was racing, and her mouth was dry. Her stomach churned and her hands shook. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and run away. But run to where? There was no where else to go.

"Who is she?" the prince asked curiously.

"A potential ally, perhaps" Lord Connington said musingly. "Her father's murder was the catalyst for this war. House Stark is descended from the First Men, they've been Warden of the North for generations."

They argued briefly about whether or not the prince should greet her, and compromised. Lord Connington met her in the hall, while the prince waited in an adjacent room where he could hear the conversation.

Sansa tried to keep her chin up as she came through the great double doors. Lord Connington – she assumed he was Lord Connington - stood waiting for them just inside. He wasn't overly tall, but broad shouldered and stern looking. Armed guards lined the walls. She stopped a few steps from him.

"Lady Stark," he inclined his head.

"Lord Connington," she forced a smile and small curtsey. "Thank you for your hospitality."

He raised a bushy eyebrow. "I haven't offered you any," he said shortly. "What do you want?"

Sansa stopped, startled. She had expected wine and courtesies, not a rushed, almost angry meeting in the hall, still wearing her cloak.

"Uhm…" she paused, swallowing hard. What to say? "I've come to beg your protection, my lord," she blurted, her voice quivering. "I am a young girl alone, with no family and a bounty on my head."

"And why should I risk myself for you?" he ask brusquely.

"Because I can lend thirty thousand fighting men to your cause," she replied shakily.

A boy appeared from an adjacent room, his expression incredulous. "Did you say thirty thousand?" His platinum hair and deep indigo eyes made him instantly recognizable, and she'd seen portraits of his father and grandfather in the Red Keep. She dropped instantly into a low curtsey, and she heard the clank of armor as her knights dropped to one knee.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she said weakly. "The Lords of the North and of the Vale rally behind the Direwolf banner of House Stark. They will support you."

She heard Lord Connington mumble something under his breath. "Rise," the prince said imperiously.

She and her knights rose. "And how do I know that these men of yours will actually appear when we need them?" Lord Connington asked.

Sansa paused. "You may send a raven to Gate of the Moon, if you wish," she said uncertainly. "Lord Royce will tell you."

"Why would these men follow you?" the prince asked with a chuckle.

"I am the last living child of Lord Eddard Stark," she answered.

"You're only a girl," he grinned.

Sansa's brow raised. "And you're only a boy," she said smoothly. His smile vanished. "Men do not follow you because of _you_ , Your Majesty. Yet. I've no doubt that one day they will. But today, they follow you because of who your father was, and your grandfather. My men are the same. For generations House Stark has ruled as Warden of the North. Kindly, with compassion. The Lords of the North rally behind the banner of House Stark because of who my father was, and my grandfather, and his father before him. My father was a good and just man, who was senselessly murdered. The Lords of the North and of the Vale will rally behind the Direwolf banner, to clear the name of House Stark."

"And in the meantime, while I send endless ravens to verify what you say is true, I suppose you're asking to stay here," Lord Connington said wryly. "For _protection_."

Sansa smiled politely. "I can return to Tarth, my lord, if you wish," she said, forcing her voice to remain strong, and her chin up. She couldn't go back to Tarth, she'd already announced herself. How long would it take Cercei to realize she was there? Or some opportune mercenary, looking for the reward being offered for her? No, she had to stay here, it was her only hope. "But please remember, the men are my payment for your protection. If you are not protecting me, then I will keep my men." It was a desperate gamble. His eyebrows raised, but she rushed on. "However, no matter what your decision, I have brought a gift for the king. A small token of friendship. Ser Lothor, if you please?" He pulled a dark velvet, drawstring bag from the pouch she'd given him to carry, and she offered it to Lord Connington.

His eyes narrowed when he took the bag from her hand. "Where did you get this?" he growled.

Sansa stuttered in the face of his sudden anger. "I….I had a friend at court," she said. "He gave it to me."

"Had a friend?" he said, the bag still unopened in his hand. "What happened to him?"

"He died," she said in a small voice, although she kept her head up and her eyes on his. "He died protecting me."

"What is it?" the king asked, moving closer to Lord Connington's side.

The older man let out a sound like a small growl, but pulled open the bag, removing a round object wrapped in white velvet.

"Your father's crown," Sansa said softly, when the fabric had all been pulled away.

The gold of the circlet gleamed brightly against the white of the fabric it sat on. In its center was a deep amythest, the size of an egg. On either side was a sapphire, only slightly smaller than the center stone. The rest of the crown was adorned with emeralds and rubies and diamonds.

"He had this commissioned a few months before Robert's Rebellion," Lord Connington said softly. "The stones were all a gift from some ambassador from across the sea. It was delivered only days before he was killed. He never had a chance to wear it."

The king reached for it, but Lord Connington pulled slightly away. "Allow me, Your Majesty. Please." The boy nodded, bending his knees slightly. Lord Connington gently placed the crown on his head, and Sansa smiled as he straightened, accustoming himself to the weight of the crown.

Lord Connington took a small step back, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes of the tears that gathered. _I will not fail the son._

King Ageon smiled at the expressions of those who stood around him, then took the few steps towards Sansa, offering his arm. "Lady Stark, will you join me for the midday meal? You must tell me about the North, I know nothing of it." His grin was engaging, and Sansa smiled in giddy relief as she laid her hand on his.

"Of course, Your Grace but…." She gestured towards her knights. "I've left the rest of my men with the ship, along with my handmaiden and our things. If we're not staying, then we should return so that we may leave on the afternoon tide," she said apologetically. She needed an answer, and she needed it now.

"Nonsense, of course you're staying," he said airily. "Lord Connington will arrange rooms for you and your men while we eat." He lead her away, asking questions about Kings Landing. Her knights fell in step behind them, leaving Lord Connington with an empty velvet bag and a slow smile. The girl was bold. That was good, they needed bold.

Now, if only he would hear from Dorne.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

"You should have seen the kings face when she called him a boy," Ser Milton grinned. "He certainly wasn't expecting that."

Alinor laughed. "I wish I could have been there," she said, smiling as she hung up Sansa's gowns in the armoire.

"I thought Lord Connington was going to choke," Ser Lothor said, laughing.

"I was so frightened, right up until the moment he said we could stay," Sansa admitted. "But when he said I was only a girl, I got a little angry. He's only a few years older than I am, and men follow him for the same reason they follow me. Neither of us has done anything to deserve it."

"I don't know about that," Ser Tomas said with a smile. "I never met Lord Stark, but I'm rather proud to follow you."

"And you must remember, my lady," Ser Mathiew said. "Bravery is not the absence of fear, but rather, action in the face of fear."

"Then our lady is the bravest of them all," Alinor said proudly.

Sansa blushed, hiding her smile behind her glass. She was still giggly that it had all worked out. She and the king had spent several hours together as she told him all about the North, and King's Landing and what she remembered of King Robert. She told him everything that had happened with Queen Cercei and about Margeary and Tommen. Her stomach churned when she realized they would kill Tommen, and Mycella too, if they could convince the Dornishmen to give her up – which they probably could, the Prince of Dorne was his uncle, after all.

"It's the only way to ensure that they won't be able to do what he'd doing now," Ser Lothor said quietly when she mentioned it. And although she knew he was right, the princess was only a few years younger than her, and Tommen was only eight or nine. It seemed wrong to kill children.

They settled into a pleasant routine almost immediately. After breaking their fast, she would work with one of the knights on weaponry. They'd moved from a dagger to a sword, which was heavy and awkward. The king would usually have her join him for lunch, where he would ask more questions about King's Landing, or the personalities of the court, or what she knew of the other Lords. Then they'd continue her lessons on military strategy and historic battles. After dinner, she and Alinor would work on mending and darning, as all of their clothes were beginning to show some wear, especially her knights.

Once the king and his forces had taken Storm's End, he had them all join them there. Sansa didn't like the old stone castle, it was cold and damp, no matter how many fires they lit. Their first morning there, she was served some type of thin porridge to break her fast, that she frowned her nose at. Dressing, she had Alinor bring the tray and went down to the kitchens, two of her knights following silently.

A middle aged woman looked at her skeptically when she entered, and the other staff stopped their duties to look at her as well. "My lady," the older woman said warily.

Sansa smiled politely. "Good morning. May I ask, who is the cook?"

"I am," she said, still wary. "Byrta."

"Ah, Byrta," Sansa said with a smile. "Are you a new cook? Was the old one killed in the siege?"

"No my lady," she answered, a bit haughtily. "I have been the cook here for over ten and five years."

"Oh that's wonderful," Sansa said warmly. "That means you can do better that…. _this._ " She gestured to the tray that Alinor held.

"We're low on barely grain, my lady," Byrta said stiffly. "And most everything else. Between Lord Tyrell and now this boy king of yours, we've not been able to get supplies."

Sansa raised an eyebrow at her tone. "I'm certain that you have your own ideas on the matter of politics, as I have mine. You're certainly welcome to them," she assured the woman. "But no matter your politics, understand that a poor work ethic will not be tolerated. Don't worry," she said when the entire staff looked alarmed. "I'm certain that neither the king nor his Hand will kill you over a bad meal, or a dusty table. He will, however, send to Tarth and have you replaced. And as I'm sure you understand, we cannot have anyone leaving here to spread tales, so you would be relegated to whatever dungeon this castle has for the duration of the war." Even to her own ears, she sounded like her mother. Good. Let them see the Lady of Winterfell, Warden of the North.

"We've hardly any supplies," the woman said again, her tone holding an edge of panic. "See for yourself." She gestured towards the pantry, and Sansa stepped forward to glance at its contents.

"I see enough to have a more suitable breaking of the fast, a delightful midday meal, and a dinner fit for a king. See to it that it is so, Byrta," she said, smiling. She gestured for Alinor to put the tray on a counter. "And I will arrange for more supplies. Tell me, who holds the household's keys?"

"Sharil, the laundress," Byrta said, almost sullenly. "The steward died, she took over things."

"Would you be so kind as to send one of your girls to find her, and ask her to come to me? I'll be wandering the rooms on this floor." She smiled again, and swept from the room, hearing Byrta behind her telling one of the girls to go get Sharil.

In the great hall, she found Lord Connington and the king, along with Ser Lothor and a few other men she didn't know. "Lady Stark, good morning," Lord Connington said politely. She noticed that like hers, their bowls were untouched.

"Good morning my lords, Your Grace, Your Majesty," she said, nodding. "I am glad to find you here. I think, my lord, that I may need your authority."

"For what?" he asked brusquely. She'd come to realize that brusque was his personality, and not take it personally.

"Ah, here she is now," Sansa said as a tall, gaunt woman came into the hall. Her back was rigidly straight, her brown hair liberally streaked with gray. She curtseyed stiffly.

"You requested me, my lady?" she asked Sansa coolly.

"Yes Sharil," Sansa said warmly. "I am Lady Sansa Stark, I will be managing King Aegon's household while he is in residence. I require the household keys." She held out her hand.

Sharil stared at her, her hand going protectively to the pocket of her white apron.

"Is there a problem, Goodwoman?" Lord Connington asked roughly.

Her jaw clenched as she slowly pulled the keys from her pocket. "No, My Lord Hand," she said stiffly, passing the keys to Sansa.

"Thank you," Sansa said, smiling. "Please have all of the household maids meet me in the downstairs solar in twenty minutes. Afterwards, I'll be down to inspect the laundry and meet the spinners and weavers. You are excused, Sharil." The woman nodded stiffly and marched out of the hall.

"My lord," Sansa turned to Lord Connington, "the kitchens are dangerously low, and the gardens were damaged in the siege. The animals are almost gone, there's only one dairy cow, and we're out of salt completely. What game remains in the forest should be left for the men. Would it be possible to for me to send my handmaiden over to Tarth for supplies?"

The king groaned, and lowered his head to his hands. "Funding a war in expensive," he moaned, his words muffled by his arms.

Sansa smiled. "I'm happy to cover our expenditures, Your Majesty," she said.

All of the heads at the table turned to look at her, with the exception of Ser Lothor, who simply smiled into his cup.

"You are?" Lord Connington said warily.

"Of course," Sansa answered cheerfully. "While I am not carrying a chest of gold dragons with me, I do have some small amount of resources, and I'm happy to use them to ensure the comfort of our King and his men."

"I do not wish to invest more than necessary," Lord Connington cautioned. "Although we will be here awhile, we will not be here permanently. I've no wish to have you expend all of your 'resources' in one blow."

"I will remember," she promised, then excused herself. She and Alinor found the stewards office, and getting paper and a sliver of coal to write with, went off to meet the household maids. The day was a busy one, with none of her weapons practice or study of military history. She ensured the maid were cleaning – "Not a speck of dust shall reside where the King does!" – then approved the laundry facilities, noting that she would prefer they use a bit more lye soap, some of the whites appeared a bit dingy.

"We're running low," Sharil said, her tone frigid.

Sansa sighed. "Of course you are. Alinor, add it to the list." She'd been thrilled to learn the girl could read and write, having been the daughter of a cleric who'd died of a fever. They also inspected the stables, iron works, chandlers rooms, and garden, although the chandler and iron master were gone, either dead or supporting Lord Stannis. She would have to find replacements if they were going to be there for any length of time. Then they returned to the steward's office, where they went through the books. Lord Connington stopped by in time to see them find a locked chest (the key to which was on the ring Sansa held), half filled with gold dragons, and he agreed that it could be used for the running of the household.

The midday meal was significantly better than the breaking of the fast - smoked ham, fish, and vegetables in an herb and butter sauce, with warm bread and a vanilla custard for dessert – and dinner was a roasted boar, more fish, roasted vegetables, bread, and a fruit and custard pie. While it wasn't technically fit for a king, it was delicious and filling.

Ser Lothor gave her several days to get the household in order before he insisted she return to her weapons lessons. "While I know the King and Lord Connington sincerely appreciate your work – we all do, really – we're still in a war. And it won't matter how clean the castle is or how good the food if you're dead." And so she oversaw the household in between learning to handle a sword and sewing and darning in the evenings. Fortunately, Alinor had the sense to buy more fabric in Tarth, and the household also had bolts of a thick wool in the basement storage room. She set the weavers and spinners and embroiders to work making shirts and socks, and thick wool leggings to be worn under pants and skirts.

She fell into bed exhausted every evening, and didn't really notice how quickly time was passing, until she realized the King was spending almost every morning with her in her weaponry lesson, practicing sparring with her and especially her knights. He prowled around the castle, practically growling at anyone who spoke to him.

"He's bored, and he wants to _do_ something," Ser Milton said with a shrug one evening as they all sat together, talking in her drawing room as they often did. "We've been sitting here for months. He wants to be a part of the action."

Sansa knew that things were happening. She'd received a letter by raven from Harry, telling her that the Northern Lords were willing to support King Aegon – and mentioning that most of them also approved of a marriage between them. They'd also heard from King's Landing that Kevan Lannister, who'd stepped in as Regent while Cercei awaited her trial by the Faith, had been killed and apparently Mace Tyrell had stepped in, over Cercei's almost violent objections. From what they'd been told, think there were chaotic, to say the least, as Cercei and Mace wrestled for the rule. And apparently, Lord Tarly and his army had been sent to the Reach in Mace Tyrell's stead, as the self-proclaimed 'King of the Iron Islands' was attacking there.

Ser Lothor had told her the Northern army was on the move, heading southwest, towards the Iron Islands, and the Westerlands. The Lords of the Vale were also moving, heading towards the Riverlands. And Lord Connington had finally heard from House Martell, and the Dornishmen were moving through the mountains, headed towards The Reach. They would have the most challenge, as Lord Tarly's army was there, along with Iron Islands forces. The king and his men had the southern Stormlands completely under their control – including Tarth, which had surrender with no bloodshed, claiming fealty to the rightful King Aegon VI. And so now, it was a matter of waiting.

Sansa was happy to wait. She was busy and productive, doing what she'd been trained to do. In Alinor she'd found the companion she'd lost in Jeyne, and her knights had become her family, of sorts. And in the King, she'd found a pesky older brother. They laughed and joked, and sparred and discussed books and history and his time in Pentos, and hers growing up in the North. Often, she was the only one who could tease him out of a black mood when the frustration of waiting grew too much for him. She made him a shirt, using the last of the white linen and lace she'd bought in Gulltown, with silver embroidery and he wore it proudly, even as he teased her about it being "the colors of House Stark." He also asked about her marriage, and she told him everything – how kind Tyrion had been to her, and even that they'd never consummated the marriage, because he'd wanted to wait until she was comfortable. "When this is over, I can have that set that aside for you, if you like," he told her. "And you'll be free to marry whomever you'd want."

Sansa smiled. "Thank you, Your Majesty, but I have no desire to marry right now." They were standing on one of the castle's stone towers, their cloaks waving in the sea scented breeze. The snow had stopped and although it was cold, the air was clear and for the moment, the clouds had broken up enough that blue sky and sunshine could be seen through them.

"But you will want to, one day," he said with uncharacteristic seriousness, his eyes intent on her face. "You could marry anyone, you're the Lady of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and dear friend to the King," he smiled. "You must be careful," he warned. "As you already know, men will want you for your title and lands."

She nodded. "I know. It's why Lord Tywin married me to Tyrion, so that the Lannisters would have the claim to Winterfell."

"You don't have to remain married to him," he told her gently.

She smiled, a bit sadly. "It may not be an issue," she said. "He was sentenced to death. I've heard no word of his execution, but it's more than possible he's dead."

"And if everything you and Ser Lothor have told me is true, it's more than possible he's alive," he said wisely. "Think on what you want, Sansa. You could marry anyone. Even me," he said lightly.

She looked at him, startled. "Would you like to be my queen?" he asked softly, reaching a hand out to grasp a thick strand of her auburn hair that had blown free from its pins. He tucked it behind her ear, then pulled her hood gently forward. "We get along well, you and I," he said softly. "You would be a beautiful queen, kind and wise, well loved by everyone. Including her King." His gaze made her stomach quiver and her breath quicken. She looked away, nervously. "Think on it," he said gently, so different from his usual arrogance. "We could be very good together."

Of course, once it was said she couldn't think of anything else, especially as his words were eerily similar to what Tyrion had said to her on their wedding night. Why would he want to marry her? She wondered. He too could have anyone he wanted. And if she were Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North, she needed to return home, she couldn't stay in King's Landing. The days went by and he didn't mention it again, he was his usual arrogant self, teasing her and pulling her hair as he passed by her. But every now and then she would catch him looking at her intently, and when she caught his eye, he would smile.

She had to wonder if she actually were free to marry again. When she'd left Winterfell three years before, she'd thought that she would be queen one day. Had it only been three years? She thought musingly. It felt like a lifetime ago. She tried to think of what it would be like to be the queen, but every time she tried to imagine it, her king was a small, misshapen dwarf with golden hair and mismatched eyes. Did she really care for Tyrion so much? She'd never really thought of it. She was grateful to him – more grateful than she knew how to express – for his kindness when her world was spinning out of control. He was a wonderful man, she could admit that now. But if he were somehow still alive, would she set him aside so that she could marry the king? He wouldn't argue with her, she knew. He would let her go, sending her on her way with his best wishes. But in her mind's eye, he looked sad. She knew instinctively that he cared for her, possibly more deeply than she wanted to admit. But how did she feel about him?

She was lost deeply in her thoughts as she, Alinor, Ser Kiers and Ser Mathew descended the steps to the lower basement. She hated coming down this low, the walls were always damp and chilled, and the air smell musty. But Sharil had told her that when Lady Selyse was in residence, she always had a ready supply of soap and candles – things they frequently ran out of. She almost made them appear by magic, and Sharil thought that perhaps they were in the lower storage room.

Sansa unlocked the heavy door, pushing it open wide. Sure enough, crates of candles were stacked neatly across the back wall of the small room, and crates of soap along the left side. "Gods be praised," Alinor sighed as she set her lantern on a crate. "We go through a crate of candles a week, it seems."

Sansa nodded. "Ser Mathew, would you take a crate of soap? And Ser Kiers, the candles if you please."

"Here, take my lantern, and I'll take a crate of candles as well," Alinor said. Sansa took it from her, holding it high while they gathered what they needed.

"What's that on that wall there?" Ser Kiers asked, gesturing with his head to the wall behind them. Small crates were stacked against it. Sansa raised the lantern high. The door stood open, almost to the wall, so she could only see a corner.

"Is that oil? For the lamps we found?" Alinor asked.

"I think it is," Sansa said with a grin. "I'll bring up a few jars." Ser Mathew and Ser Kiers headed out of the door, Alinor following.

"If that is the oil," Alinor said as she exited, "then we could cut down on our candle usage."

The door swung on silent hinges as Sansa pushed it out of her way, reaching to grab the small crate, the lantern still in her hand. Then gasped in surprise when she saw the man who had been hidden behind it. He moved quickly, so fast she barely saw the flash of his blade.

Ser Lothor insisted that she wear her daggers everywhere, one strapped to her right thigh under her gown, and a short one strapped to her left forearm. She did it to mollify him, as she was never anywhere alone, and Alinor wore her short sword on her side, just as her knights did. The King had made sure that the household soldiers knew that she was to be protected as he was – "She contributed 30,000 fighting men to this cause, and they fight for me because they know that I are keeping their Direwolf princess safe. If she dies, I will lose their support, and quite possibly, this war. So if she dies, you die." – and so although she was always armed, she never worried about it. No one in the house would harm her. But her training served her well as she jumped back, swinging the lantern at her attackers head. He ducked and growled as she flung herself to the right, grateful that the candle didn't go out as it landed on its side. She opened her mouth to scream as she grabbed the short blade from her arm but he was too close. He grabbed her awkwardly, her left arm against his chest, pushing her into the wall and knocking the breath from her, but not before a small scream escaped her. The force of hitting the wall make her drop her dagger, but it also put her in a good position to reach into her skirt for the other one.

Her assailant kicked at the door to close it, then pushed her back against the wall, his hand across her mouth. Before he could do much more, she had pushed her dagger into his midsection. He looked surprised, then down to where her hand still grasped the hilt. He stumbled back as the door was flung open with a crash, and Ser Mathew there, his broad sword in hand, Ser Kiers right behind him, and Sansa pushed her dagger deeper and up, as Ser Lothor had taught her. The assailant crumbled to the floor, his body shaking, blood leaking from his mouth. Alinor pushed into the room, grabbed Sansa and pulled her out and down the hallway, yelling and screaming all of the way. By the time they'd reached the top a dozen men had gone charging down the staircase. The King met her at the top and grabbed her, holding her tightly.

"Are you all right?" He pulled away to look intently into her face, his hands on her cheeks, stroking her hair.

She nodded, swallowing the bile that had risen into her throat. "Yes," she said shakily. "Yes, I…..I think so." He pulled her to him again, her face against his shoulder, whispering gently to her.

"Alright, it's over now," he said soothingly, then told Alinor to go find someone to bring Sansa a cup of wine.

Lord Connington and Ser Lothor came striding up the stairs. The Hand of the King seemed surprised to see them there, the King holding her tightly, her hands clutching his shirt.

"Are you alright, my lady? Is she alright?" Ser Lothor asked urgently.

She pulled away from the King, nodding. "Yes," she said, clearing her throat. Alinor pushed a cup of wine into her hands and she gratefully took a gulp. "I'm fine," she said again. She was surprised to see seven guards around them, all with their swords drawn, including Alinor.

It took only a few moments to sort out what had happened. Sharil was sent for, and was nowhere to be found. No one had seen her for most of the morning, the last anyone had seen of her she was on her way to speak to Lady Stark about a possible storeroom where Lady Selyse had kept candles and lye soap. And that had been hours earlier. Lord Connington alerted the troops, most of which were just outside the castle walls, and tightened security around both the King and Sansa.

"We found a bag of food, bread and dried meat and cheese, a skin of water, and a small chamber pot hidden in the room," Ser Lothor told her grimly that evening. "He was prepared to wait until you came down. No one else has the keys, and you've made a habit of not giving them to anyone, so she could be certain that you would be the one to go down."

"He had to have known he wouldn't have gotten away," Alinor said curiously. "Lady Sansa is never alone, Sharil knew that."

Ser Lothor shrugged. "She's gone and he's dead, so we've no idea of what he knew."

Although Alinor slept in the bed with her and Ser Lothor promised to watch over her all night, she slept fitfully. She was sickened that she had killed someone, and every time she closed her eyes she could see him lying on the floor, her dagger protruding from him, blood leaking from his mouth. One of the lamps she and Alinor had found was lit – now that they had the oil for it – and sat on her bedside table, burning all night. And every time she opened her eyes, Ser Lothor was still sitting beside her bed, his eyes resting on her face.

The morning brought news of Sharil's capture by a patrol. But it also brought two ravens.

"Your Northmen have prevailed," the King told her excitedly, as Lord Connington stood nearby, a small smile on his usually dour face. "They have taken the Iron Islands and The Westerlands, including Casterly Rock. And the Valemen have secured the Riverlands. Your uncle, Lord Tully, has been re-established as rightful ruler of Riverrun, and Jaimie Lannister has been taken captive."

"A combined force of Northmen and Valemen took The Twins," Ser Lothor told her gently. "It is said that their battle cry was, _'For King Robb!'_ Old Walder Frey and his eight oldest born sons are dead."

"There were many who wanted him dead for his treachery," Lord Connington said seriously.

Sansa felt her eyes tear at that news, and her breath caught in her throat. But she wouldn't cry. She pressed her lips tightly together and nodded once, then excused herself.

Wrapped in her white fur cloak, she stood on the tallest of the stone towers, watching the waves crash below. The snow was falling gently around her, but she didn't feel it. She wasn't sure what she felt.

"Revenge isn't always sweet," Lord Connington said quietly, appearing at her side. "Or even satisfactory."

Sansa was quiet for a long minute, then nodded. "I thought I would be happy to hear that Old Lord Frey was dead," she said quietly. "And I suppose a part of me is. But mostly…I'm just tired. Of all of it. I'm tired of all of the death. Even as I'm happy that my mother and brother's killer is dead, someone is crying because of his death. It's too much, there's just been too much. When will it end?"

"Soon, Lady Stark. Very soon. In large part because of you. Without your help this would have been harder, longer, and bloodier. History will note that it was the presence of the North, under the wise leadership of Lady Sansa Stark that turned the tides."

Sansa remained silent.

Lord Connington sighed deeply. "My boy fancies you," he said quietly. "I've been against the idea of his marrying. His mother was so unsuited to his father, weak and frail and totally unworthy of him. But that is not who you are, Lady Stark. You are strong and bold, and wise beyond your years. And I would be honored to call you my queen."

She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. He smiled and bowed, then turned away, leaving her and her swirling thoughts standing amidst the gently falling snow.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

The next day brought a raven with the news that the Dornishmen had taken The Reach. Sansa sighed, wondering what would become of Wyllis Tyrell, the lame oldest brother of Queen Margeary. Her mother and Ser Loras could have been at HighGarden when it was taken, as well. And the Queen's grandmother, Lady Olenna. Although she knew now that it was Lady Olenna who actually poisoned Jeoffery – if what Lord Petyr said was true – she was still concerned for the old woman's safety. And she couldn't believe that Lady Olenna actually meant her any harm. If she were working with Lord Petyr then she would have known that Sansa would be taken away before anything could happen to her.

Lord Connington sent ravens telling all of the armies to take up their prearranged positions just inside The Crownlands. "They'll be cut off on every side," Ser Lothor said. "They'll try to lock the city, thinking to withstand a siege. But it's over. The small folk and even many of the Lords are all rushing to the kings banner, saying they want to end this war and restore the rightful king to the throne. It's over."

After the attack on Sansa's life, the King was taking no chances with her safety. He didn't feel comfortable leaving her at Storm's End, and neither did Lord Connington. They'd already had her send a letter to her generals, commending them on their swift and decisive victories. Both men had replied that they were happy to serve House Stark, and that they awaited her orders. _Her_ orders, not the Kings.

"The North is fighting for its freedom," Lord Connington told the King grimly. "They've shown their allegiance, and it's not to you, it to her. She's their Queen."

"And if she's also _my_ Queen?" he asked, his hands steepled together, his eyes intent. He knew well how his Hand felt about him marrying.

"I think that might be the best solution to keeping the Seven Kingdoms intact," Lord Connington surprised him by saying. "She's strong and smart and beautiful besides. You could do worse in a queen, but I don't think you'll do much better. Sansa Stark was bred to be a queen, whether she knows it or not."

Since Sharil's attack, the entire household was suspect, and no one was comfortable. Sansa still hadn't been able to make sense of in her mind. Why would Sharil do it? Was the bounty on her head so large? Her knights assured her it was. Sharil only babbled nonsense about the true king – meaning Stannis Baratheon – and how she would die before she'd serve anyone else. Several of the household staff told them they believed that Sharil had thought to take the money from the bounty to Stannis, to support his efforts. Although how she'd thought to travel all the way to King's Landing, obtain the bounty and then travel to find Lord Stannis' army, who'd last been seen heading far north – no one knew.

But Sansa didn't want to go with the army to King's Landing. She also didn't want to stay at Storm's End. "Couldn't we go back to Griffin's Roost?" she asked.

Ser Lothor shook his head. Like the King, he knew that the North was only present because she was. "Your troops need to see your face. They hold out the Targareyn banner, but they rally behind the Direwolf."

Sansa sighed and prepared to go. She'd learned in her military strategy sessions that maintaining the morale of her men was a large part of leading. If her troops felt that she had abandoned them, or that she was more concerned with herself that with them, they would falter and fail. So she put on her armor, belted on her sword, and rode out with the rest of the army.

They were closer to King's Landing than the other armies, and so they arrived first. It would be days, if not weeks, before they all arrived. But soon enough the others were in place. And still they waited.

"I know waiting is an important battle strategy, especially during a siege," she told Alinor one morning. "But to be this close and not do anything…..it's frustrating."

"Well something must be about to happen soon, because the King has been in a very good mood," Alinor commented. Sansa nodded. Every time she'd tried to raise the subject with him, he just smiled and said they were waiting. But for what?

A few days later, she had her answer. "My lady," Alinor said urgently. "Lady Sansa, wake up!"

"What is it?" Sansa asked, sitting up, rubbing her eyes. "An attack?"

"No, come look. Hurry!" Alinor bundled her into her robe and boots and rushed her out of their tent, then pointed east to where the sun had just risen into the sky. At first she didn't see anything, and then she wasn't sure of what she was seeing.

"Are those…." She blinked, and rubbed her eyes again. Three winged creatures. One black, one white, one green.

"Dragons," the king said with a grin, coming to stand beside her. He grabbed her hand tightly. "My Aunt Danerys Stormborn her come with her army, the Second Sons, and her dragons." He looked at her, his eyes shining with victory. "Today, we take Kings Landing. Today, we win." He kissed the back of her hand, then released it. "I must prepare. Dress for battle, Queen Sansa. I would have you ride into Kings Landing at my side." And then he was gone.

The city of King's Landing surrendered without a fight, opening the gates and cheering as King Aegon's army flooded into the streets. The Red Keep, however, remained closed and locked. Although Cercei commanded the Keep to fight most of the soldiers stepped aside and surrendered. The men swept through the Keep, finally finding Cercei and Tommen hiding behind a locked door and a hundred guards, including a giant in golden armor that it took thirty men to take down. The only injuries and losses the King's forces sustained were fighting him.

As the sun set over the western mountains, the banner men of House Stark and House Targareyn led the procession of Sansa and King Aegon into the city. People cheered loudly, calling out not only the King's name, but Sansa's as well. Sansa was overwhelmed by it all, but the King was unaffected, grinning as if it were his due, his father's crown shining brightly in the fading daylight.

Before they reached the throne room, the King pulled her aside, waving everyone away so that they could have a few moments alone, despite Lord Connington's scowl. He took her hand, lacing his fingers tightly through hers. "Have you considered my offer?" he asked quietly.

Sansa opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Your Majesty, I don't know if Lord Tyrion is dead –"

"I am assuming he's not," he replied. "He should have arrived with the Second Sons, so I assume he's in the throne room, waiting to be publically pardoned of his crimes in exchange for helping to restore me to my throne. We left him in Pentos with orders to convince my aunt to lend me her assistance."

She stared at him as the full meaning of his words registered. "You….left him?"

The King nodded. "When Lord Varys helped him escape from prison, he bundled him into a crate and sent him to Pentos. He knew we needed a strategist who was familiar with the current situation here, and there is none better than Tyrion."

"So you've always known he was alive," she said slowly. She felt like the floor had fallen out from beneath her feet. Tyrion was alive. And free.

"I've assumed he was," the King replied, his beautiful eyes searching her face. "Just as I'm assuming he's in there now. I had hoped that…" he faltered, then sighed, reaching out to stroke her hair, her cheek. He pulled her close, resting his lips against her forehead for a moment. "Fine, you don't have to make the decision now," he said lightly, tilting her chin up so that she met his eyes. "The war is over, so we have time. Now come along, Lady Stark," he stepping away, the usual cocky grin on his face. "The Seven Kingdoms await us."

The entire room sank to their feet as they entered. The King kept her hand tightly in his as they made their way to the foot of the dias, where he smiled before releasing her to mount the stairs and take his seat on the Iron Throne. The room erupted into cheers.

There were many people to honor and the King acknowledged them all, interspersing his thanks with humorous quips and japes, his grin flashing out regularly until the crowd relaxed, certain he wasn't the Mad King reincarnate, come to kill them all. Lord Connington, already named Hand of the King, stood silently beside him, occasionally whispering something. It was almost an hour later when the King asked that wine be brought so that he could soothe his throat, then had a defiant Cercei and a terrified Tommen brought before him. It wasn't until Aegon politely asked Tommen to come stand beside him that Cercei's expression changed. "No," she said as the guards led the boy up the stairs. "NO."

Tommen looked back to his mother, his expression frightened, but Aegon calmed him. "It's alright, Your Majesty," he said, unusually grave. "Your mother is afraid I'll harm you. Because this really has nothing to do with you and I, does it? It's all about our fathers and a battle that happened before you were born, when I was only a babe, a battle over a woman. Although those Stark women can be bewitching," he grinned, his eyes drifting momentarily to Sansa. "But it doesn't seem right to harm a child for something his parents did, don't you agree?" Tommen, wide eyed, nodded, as an attendant appeared beside the king with two cups of wine on a tray. "Ah, here we are," the king said with a cocky smile. "Have you ever had wine, Your Majesty?" Tommen nodded again as Cercei spoke in a voice that shook in anger, or fear.

"Tommen, don't drink it." Her chest was heaving, her eyes wide and angry. She struggled against the guards who held her firmly.

"Surely the boy deserves a sip of wine, my lady?" the King asked, raising a brow. "It's been a trying day for us all. And gods help us, this is only the beginning," he sighed. "There's still so much to do. Have you heard from your sister, Your Majesty?" he asked, passing a cup to the boy. "We'll have to arrange to have her brought home."

"Tommen, DON'T DRINK IT!" Cercei struggled violently but the guards held her firmly.

"I have your uncle, Ser Jaime, as one of my hostages," the King continued as if Cercei had never spoken. "Well, hostage is too strong a word. He didn't exactly surrender, but he didn't fight us either. In addition, he did provide some information about his sister that was very helpful."

" _He's lying Tommen, don't listen to him!_ "

"I'm not lying, Your Majesty," the King said softly, sipping his wine. "Your uncle loves his sister, but he's realized that she's not a very good queen. Westeros needs a strong leader, and your mother simply doesn't know how to be one."

"You have to kill me," Tommen said softly, speaking for the first time. "If you don't, I'll do what you're doing now, me or Myrcella. So you have to kill us." His voice was shaking, but he looked King Aegon in the eye.

Aegon looked at the beautiful blonde child before him. It wasn't the boy's fault that his father had been Robert Baraetheon. This had nothing to do with him, he was just an innocent child. His stomach churned at the thought of what he was about to do. "Drink your wine, Your Majesty," he said softly.

Sansa's eyes filled with hot tears as Tommen nodded, and drank the entire cup. The King watched silently, his face a mask of sorrow.

" _NOOOOOOOO!_ " It was a mother's heart wrenching, anguished cry.

Tommen smiled to Cercei as his little legs collapsed beneath him, the King catching him before he hit the ground, lying him gently down, grief obvious on his face. He remained there, kneeling over the small boy for several minutes, his fingers lightly against his throat, as Cercei screamed in rage and grief, threatening to kill him, to rip him apart with her bare hands, to kill them all. Finally he sighed, blinking rapidly, and folded Tommen's hands across his chest. Only Sansa was close enough to see that his hands trembled. When he rose, his face was a mask of icy calm. Rising, he nodded to the guards and they released Cercei but before she'd taken more than two steps, an arrow flew from the balcony above, piercing her through the heart. She collapsed less than foot from her son.

The King sat on the throne, his fingers steepled before him. "There's been enough bloodshed," he said, his voice carrying easily in the silent room. "I will have no more, if I can avoid it. But please do not think me weak, or foolish." His hard gaze swept the room. "What I said to King Tommen was true –this had nothing to do with he and I, and everything to do with our fathers and their battle over a woman. And so I poisoned the child, yes. It seemed kinder than a blade, most certainly kinder that the death some babe endured in my place. His mother received my arrow. As will anyone else who chooses to challenge me."

There wasn't much left to say after that. He publically thanked Sansa and the men of the North and the Vale, assuring her that she could keep her ancestral lands, be addressed as Lady of Winterfell, that the title would pass through her son, and she would remain the Warden of the North, and named her Warden of the East until her cousin came of age. He also told her that she could foster her cousin, Lord Robert Arryn at Winterfell, if she wanted, but she said she'd rather he be raised in the Vale, so that he would be familiar with their customs and ways. "Know that I am forever indebted to you," he said seriously, holding out his hand. She mounted the stairs to take it. "Let today be the new start of a friendship between House Targaryen and House Stark," he said. "You have my thanks, my lady." He kissed her hand.

Sansa was sure she blushed at the way he was looking at her. "You're most welcome, Your Majesty," she said.

"Speaking of friends," he said, pulling Sansa to his side, "Is Lord Lannister present?" A murmur ran through the crowd. What Lannister would still be present after witnessing the queen and her son's execution?

Lord Varys stepped forward. "No, Your Majesty," he said. "Lord Tyrion took a bit of a blow to the head. He is well," he hurried to assure them. "But a bit dizzy, so he is resting."

"Let it be known that Lord Tyrion Lannister is pardoned of any crimes he _may_ have committed," the king said loudly. He paused. "We'll have to take into further consideration any that he actually _did_ commit," he said wryly, and a chuckled ran through the room. "As payment for his services in securing my throne, Lord Lannister is hereby allowed to keep his ancestral lands and titles, and is now the Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Advisor to the King."

"And of course, my Aunt, Queen Daenerys Stormborn," he gesture to the stunningly beautiful, slender woman with the hair like his, and she came easily up the stairs, her purple eyes sliding coolly to Sansa, whom the King still held at his side. "What can I offer you, Your Majesty, in return for your assistance?"

"You have nothing here that I want, Nephew," she said sweetly. "I am content with knowing a Targaryen is returned to the throne."

"Surely there is something?" he pressed.

Her smile was slow. "Perhaps," she said vaguely. "I will think on it."

The King dismissed them soon after but not before announcing with a wicked grin, that Lady Stark would be managing his household while he was in residence. She was immediately swarmed with people making requests, and had never been more grateful to see Ser Lothor and her guards. She spent the evening with the castle steward, making room assignment for those who would stay in the keep, politely sending some of the Lords to inns in the city, and making sure all of the current inhabitants who had been loyal to Cercei were accounted for. The list was long, and Lord Connington joined her. Most were completely willing to swear fealty to the King. But there were others who were still unaccounted for.

It was well after midnight when Lord Connington sent her to bed. "The guards will keep searching. There are only a few left, and they may have fled in the confusion. Get some sleep."

"And you, my lord," she said, smothering a yawn. "You need your rest as well." He nodded and she and her guards wandered the halls for a bit before finding her suite of room, where Alinor was waiting. Her suite was large and made up of multiple rooms. Alinor chatted happily about them but Sansa was too tired to care.

In the morning there were numerous requests from the King and Lord Connington, a veritable list of things for her to do. There were also numerous people who wanted to see her, some of them for purely social reasons – the King had made it plain that she was special to him, and tongues were already wagging that he would put aside her marriage to Tyrion and make her the queen. She heard whispers that Tyrion was about, as busy as she. But for three days, she didn't see him.

She did, however, go to see Queen Margeary and her cousins. The Queen hugged her tightly. "Are you alright?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," Sansa assured her as they sat on the bed in her narrow cell, a disapproving septa hovering by the door. "How are you?"

Margeary smiled sadly. "I'm alright," she said. "Sansa, have you heard word of my family?"

"I know that your father is well," Sansa said. "I was told that neither your mother or brothers were harmed when Highgarden was taken, but I've heard nothing of Lady Olenna."

Margaery smiled sadly. "Tommen?" she whispered.

Sansa's eyes filled. "He was very brave," she said softly. "The King chose poison, he felt a blade would be cruel."

The Queen nodded. "Are you being treated well?" Sansa asked, her eyes drifting to the septa.

"Well, it isn't a vacation," Margaery replied shortly. "But I haven't been hurt, no. What does the King plan to do with me?"

"I don't know," Sansa answered honestly. "We haven't had a chance to speak of it. Tommen was only a child, but you are still his Queen. I know that your father is advocating for you, but I don't know how it's going. I hope to speak to the King this evening, I'll try to come back in a day or two. But for now, you're probably safest here." Margeary nodded miserably.

When she returned to the keep, she was delighted to meet with a few of the Lords of the North and the Vale. They all greeted her enthusiastically, and Ser Harry hugged her tightly, causing her to blush and most of the men to chuckle.

"So has the King given you any indication of what he'll do with the North?" Lord Umber asked. Sansa was happy to see him, he'd been a loyal follower of Robb and had been held captive at the Twins.

"I haven't had a chance to speak with him in days," Sansa said honestly. "I'm hoping I'll so do today."

"The boy's infatuated with you," Lord Grafton said. "And I know young Ser Harry doesn't like it, but if he's willing to put you on the throne…you could ask for the North's freedom."

Sansa had been hoping to avoid that subject, but she'd known it was too much to ask. "Perhaps you haven't heard, my lord," she said. "But Tyrion Lannister is alive and well, which means I am not free to marry."

"Bah," Lord Umber said dismissively. "The King can easily set that aside. You were forced to wed the Imp so that the Lannisters could have your claim to Winterfell."

"And he'd set it aside, if you want him to, if you tell him," young Lord Manderly said. "He said as much this morning."

"This morning, my lord?" Sansa asked inquisitively. "You've spoken to the King?"

"Greatjon, Flint, and I spoke to the King on behalf of the North this morning, my lady," Lord Manderly said gruffly. "My father sent a letter asking that he be named your protector, and that the King would send you home, to White Harbor so you can put this war behind you, and we can begin rebuilding Winterfell, and arrange you a proper marriage. He sent a note for you, as well." He dug into his cloak pocket and pulled out a tightly rolled paper. Sansa took it woodenly, thanking him automatically.

They stayed a little longer, but she didn't remember what they talked about. She did remember Lord Manderly asking when she'd be ready to leave, as he would wait and escort her back to White Harbor, but she didn't know what answer she gave him. Harry stayed behind, reaching for her hand. "I've lost any chance I had, haven't I," he asked sadly.

Sansa was saved from answering by Alinor. "Excuse me, my lady," she said as she entered. "The king is requesting your presence."

Harry just nodded and sighed, kissing her cheek and telling her that he was hoping to return home soon.

Sansa slid the letter from Lord Manderly into her pocket while Alinor hurriedly brushed her hair and secured her pins, then they went to meet the King. He was in one of the smaller salon's with Lord Connington, Mace Tyrell, and a few other men she didn't recognize – but not Tyrion. She and her guards waited by the door until he suddenly noticed her, then he abruptly told everyone to leave so that he could have a few moments alone with Lady Stark. Lord Connington was the last. "Only a few moments, Your Majesty, your uncle's men have requested a word with you before they leave." The King nodded irritably. Lord Connington smiled at her, bowing slightly as he closed the door quietly behind him.

The King waved her over to him as he sat on a small sofa near the fire. He grinned as she sat down. "It's good to see you again," he said jokingly. "I've missed you."

Sansa chuckled. "I know, it's been days since I've seen you. But I'd been hoping I could talk to you actually. Have you decided what you're going to do with Margeary?" she asked softly. "Or Myrcella?"

He grunted softly, leaning back into the cushions with a sigh. "Tyrion has somehow convinced the High Sparrow to release the women," he said. "Her ladies will return to their homes. But I have a different plan for Lady Margeary. As for the Princess, my uncle is requesting to keep her in Dorne, they've all become very fond of her. And everyone, especially Tyrion and Ser Jamie, is assuring me that these children are **not** the offspring of Robert Baretheon, although no one is certain exactly who their father is. I wish someone would have mentioned that before I killed that little boy," he muttered.

Sansa reached for his hand sympathetically and he clung to it tightly. She still saw the face of the man she'd killed in her dreams, she knew it couldn't have been easy for him to do, especially since Tommen was so young.

"But what of you, my lovely Lady Sansa," he asked lightly, eager to change the subject. "Have you changed your mind regarding your marriage?"

"Your Majesty I haven't even seen Lord Tyrion, although I know he is about," she said.

"I do not understand why you need to see him," he said musingly.

Sansa paused, not quite certain herself. But his gentleness and care had been a balm to her aching heart, even when she hadn't been able to acknowledge it. "He was so kind to me," she said finally. "I'd like very much to tell him thank you, and to tell him personally any plans I have. It seems the right thing to do. After everything, I owe him that much, at the least."

"But what are your plans?" the king asked softly. "Will you stay by my side and rule Westeros with me? I might be persuaded to give your beloved North their freedom if you do so. Not likely, but possibly. Or will you take the offer of Ser Harry, who believes that one day soon he will be the Lord of the Vale? Or will you run to Lord Manderly in White Harbor, and let him help you rebuild your home, and find you a 'proper and suitable' husband?"

Sansa sighed, staring at their joined hands. "I don't know," she said quietly.

"Would it be so horrible, being married to me? Being the queen?" he asked, almost angrily.

Sansa looked up in surprise. "No, oh no! Your Majesty, you mustn't think –"

"Aegon," he said angrily. "I've asked you to call me Aegon when we are alone."

"Aegon, please," she said beseechingly. "Didn't you ever, growing up, didn't you ever resent the fact that everyone just expected that one day you would do exactly what they wanted you to do? No one asked if you _wanted_ to do it. They just told you that you would. You didn't have a say about it, you didn't have a choice. Didn't that bother you?"

His gaze softened a bit, and he nodded.

"Everyone is telling me what to do, and planning my future for me," she said in frustration. "But no one is asking me what I want. They all know what's best for me, so I should just be a good girl, be quiet and do as I'm told. And that's not the life I want. I want to be free to make my own choices, even if sometimes I don't know what the right choice is. But at least I'll be the one to make it."

"You'll lose that, if you're queen," he said in an uncharacteristic display of wisdom. "Ruling is all about duty, and serving the best interests of your kingdom. All seven of them," he said wryly. "No one is asking me what I want, either."

"I know," she said softly. "And it is that and only that, that makes me hesitate."

He nodded, understanding. "Has anyone mentioned to you what it is my darling Aunt Dany has requested of me?"

Sansa shook her head, glad for the change of subject. "No, what gift did she choose?"

"A child," Aegon said seriously.

Sansa stared at him a moment, not understanding. "What child?" she asked hesitantly. "Is there any child in particular?"

"Oh yes," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "She wants my child. She wants me to impregnate her."

Sansa's mouth dropped open in shock. "She wants her child to have a claim to this throne," she whispered, understanding. "But surely she realizes that a child you'd have with her would be a natural child, it wouldn't succeed you."

"Oh yes it will," he said bitterly. "She is delighted to help me win my throne, and I may enjoy it for as long as I live. And when I die, she'll have it back. I must name her child my firstborn and heir, male or female. I implied that you and I have already been intimate – my apologies – and that you could already be carrying a babe. She told me that I should have you drink the Moon Tea sooner rather than later, because if I wait too long it will be harder for you." He rose, prowling the room. "I will give her a child and it will be my heir, or she will have her dragons burn King's Landing to the ground."

Sansa sat for a moment, watching him pace. "She wouldn't do that," she said slowly. "She's spent the last few years freeing slaves and punishing their masters. She wouldn't kill thousands of innocent people simply because she can't have her way."

He stopped pacing and stared at her. "You sound like your husband," he said, a bitter edge to his voice. "Tyrion said the same thing."

Sansa dropped her eyes, unsure of what to say but secretly pleased that she had arrived at the same conclusion as Tyrion. "You could do worse than to heed his council, Your – Aegon," she said. "He knows her well, does he not? You said you left him behind to convince her to champion your cause, surely he understands her by now."

He made a sound that was almost a growl, staring out of the window into the snow.

"You could send a septa and septon, just like you had, to ensure that the child knows our ways. A Maester. Knights to help guard it, but also to teach it to handle weapons."

He turned to look at her. 'So you think I should do this?" he asked.

Sansa shook her head. "Aegon, I'm hardly one to advise you," she said. "I cannot make my own decisions."

They were each silent for long moments, lost in their own thoughts. "Well, allow me to advise you," he said, coming to sit beside her and take her hand in both of his. "Let me set aside the marriage," he urged. "No matter what you decide to do, you deserve better than a man who only married you for your lands and title."

Sansa had to laugh slightly. "Anyone who marries me will likely only be interested in my lands and title," she said wryly. "Tyrion is probably the only one who isn't. And you."

The King just stared at her. "Sansa, Tyrion only married you for your claim to Winterfell."

"Tyrion is Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West," she said. "He doesn't need my title."

"He is now, yes," the King said. "But not before."

Sansa's confusion showed on her face. "Of course he was," she said. "Ser Jaime is – was – Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and so forfeited his right to inherit. Cercei was the queen, so that left Tyrion."

"But his father wouldn't name him heir," the King said. "He intended to make Tommen his heir, then the girl when the older boy died. But not Tyrion. He'd told Tyrion so, Tyrion told me. And Mace Tyrell confirmed it. Tyrion's only hope for land and a title was through marriage. Through you."

Sansa stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Sansa, please don't feel obligated to him," the King said urgently. "I know he was kind to you, but please believe that it was to make you feel just as you do now, so that when this war was over and the Northern Lords all began to petition the crown to set aside your marriage, you would be devoted to him. This was his plan."

Sansa found her voice. "Well. Then I'm certain he won't mind should I decide to set aside the marriage." The thought was hard to comprehend. Tyrion never seemed like he only wanted Winterfell, he'd never even mentioned it. But he cared about her, she knew he did. Didn't he?

The King shook his head, a frown marring his beautiful features. "Tyrion and I have already had a conversation about it," he said grudgingly. "He accused me of stealing his wife. He said that I could have any woman in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and yet I'd chosen the one that was married to him. No, Sansa. He still wants your land and your title."

 _Or perhaps he wants me._ "Warden of the North and the West? And the East, until Lord Robert comes of age," she said with a skeptical laugh. "That's ambitious, even for Tyrion."

"Sansa please," he said, ignoring her words. "Please don't turn away from someone who genuinely cares about you for a man who doesn't."

"I find it difficult to believe that Tyrion does not care for me, at least a little," she said. "But I promise, I will think on what you have said. I don't know that I'll be able to think of much else," she smiled sadly.

A knock at the door saved him from responding. Without waiting for an answer, it was opened. "Your Majesty," Lord Connington said, bowing slightly. "Your uncle's men are waiting."

The King didn't speak, just stared at his foster father in annoyance.

"The joys and burdens of being the King," Sansa said softly.

His eyes returned to her face, softening. "There would be more joy if my queen were beside me," he said softly. He kissed the palm of the hand he held, then grazed his lips over her knuckles before rising. "What am I talking to them about?" he asked as he stepped through the door.


	5. Chapter 5

_I have mostly tried to stay as close to the books as I can, but one of the joys of writing fan fiction is taking liberties, and in this Chapter I take a small one. In the books, Queen Margeary and her ladies were released to Lord Randyll Tarly to await trial in his custody, but here they are still being held by the High Sparrow. Lord Tyrell and Lord Tarly did abandon their war efforts – as seen in earlier chapters – and are in King's Landing, but they've been unable to convince the High Sparrow to release the girls, no matter how weak the evidence against them._

 _ **Chapter 5**_

It was after dinner before Sansa had a chance to sit and think. She'd sent Alinor off on an errand, and although Ser Tomas and Ser Milton were guarding her door, her rooms were quiet for the moment. Reaching to pour herself a glass of lemoned water, she heard the crinkle of paper in her pocket, and remembered Lord Manderly's note. Returning to her seat by the window, she pulled it out.

 _My dear Lady Sansa –_

 _I pray that this note will find you well and unharmed. Now that this war is over it's time to look towards the future. Your future, and the future of Winterfell. While your future is a matter that I hope you will allow me to guide, I must tell you that the future of Winterfell is secure. Your youngest brother Ricken and his nurse are here in my home at White Harbor. The nurse has told me that she and the Maester and a few other servants were able to smuggle the boys out without Greyjoy's knowledge. Your brother Bran has gone northeast with the Reed children, towards the Neck. As soon as things have settled a bit, I will send men to find him and return him home as well, gods willing._

 _I have asked the King to allow me to serve as your protector once your marriage has been set aside. My son will escort you home to White Harbor where I await you, with your brother. I hope that you will allow my home to become your home, Lady Sansa. I know that I am no replacement for your father, but he was my dear friend and I promise to care for you and your brothers as if you were my own children. Once you have returned, we will see about finding you a proper and suitable husband. While I know the horrors you've endured during this war will haunt you for a long while, if not a lifetime, the comforts of a family of your own will do much to ease your mind and soothe your heart._

 _Your protector and friend,_

 _Wyman Manderly_

Sansa read the note three times. Ricken was alive? And possibly Bran, as well? She hugged the note to her chest, her tears dripping down onto the back of the paper. Her brothers were alive. Her baby brothers were _alive_.

She was so overwhelmed that she didn't hear the door open and close, or even notice the man coming towards her. He stopped at the sight of her tears. "I pray no great disaster has befallen us, my lady?" he said quietly.

She turned her head, startled, then stared. His hair was longer, and the lower portion of his face was covered by a thick, deep blonde beard. But the eyes were the same, the mismatched eyes under a heavy brow, that had always looked at her with kindness and care, just as they were now. She didn't realize she was smiling until he began to smile as well.

"Tyrion," she said excitedly, through her tears. "Tyrion, look!" She held out the letter. He crossed the room to stand beside her chair, one hand resting on her knee, the other taking the paper. His smile widened.

"Your brothers are alive," he said, grinning up at her.

Just hearing the words made her tears flow harder and she unthinkingly reached for him, pulling him close and burying her face against his neck, laughing and crying and then just crying, sobbing in relief and joy and sadness and more that she couldn't even name.

Tyrion wrapped his arms around her, some small part of his mind wondering how she could still smell like soap and flowers at the end of the day. "Ah, it's alright love," he said soothingly, rubbing her back. "There it is, let it all out. You're overdue for a good cry. It's alright now."

They stayed that way for a long time. Eventually Sansa's tears eased to a trickle. And still she lay on his shoulder, enjoying his calming presence. Tyrion was happy to stand there, his arms around his wife, his cheek against her hair, feeling for the first time that everything might actually be alright.

Finally, she sat up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've ruined your doublet."

"Nonsense," he said lightly. "Besides, what use is a wife if she doesn't occasionally ruin your clothes?" Sansa mopped at her face with the handkerchief he handed her while he quickly unbuttoned and removed his doublet, tossing it to a nearby chair, then returning to stand next to her, his hands resting lightly on her knee. "Do you feel better now?"

Sansa smiled, then laughed a little. "I do, actually," she said.

"A good cry is cathartic, I'm told. Perhaps I should try it," he smiled.

Sansa laughed in earnest. "I can't imagine you crying."

His smile was a little sad. "Oh, I've cried many times over the years. But I always hid it behind a few cups of wine, so that no one would notice. Speaking of." He moved away to pull the cord and one of her serving girls came, curtseying slight when she saw Tyrion.

"Please bring my lady and I wine. And tell my lady's handmaiden that she may find her bed, she won't be needed this evening."

Sansa was surprised by that, and dropped her eyes to the soggy mess that she'd made of his handkerchief. He returned to stand next to her again, his hands rested not far from hers. For the first time, she noticed the dark hairs on the back of his hands, disappearing into the sleeves of his shirt. His shoulders were broad for his size and his arms, beneath the fabric of his shirt, seemed heavily muscled.

Tyrion took advantage of the silence to study her, as well. She'd grown from a beautiful child to a stunning young woman. Her breasts and hips had filled out, and although her hair was shorter, barely grazing her shoulders now, it drew more attention to her high cheekbones and softly bowed lips.

"I'm very happy you're not dead," she blurted out.

Tyrion laughed softly. "As am I," he said wryly. "Personally, I think I am much more presentable with my head firmly attached to my shoulders."

Sansa nodded, and peeked at him from beneath her lashes. "I like your beard," she said shyly.

"Do you?" he said, surprised. "Well then, I suppose I'll keep it. Since it pleases my lady wife."

Sansa smiled, her eyes still in her lap, and Tyrion reached out and lifted her face. "I've missed you," he said quietly, running his thumb along her cheek. "I was terribly worried. Where did you go?"

"Lord Baelish took me to the Vale, to my Aunt Lysa," she said nervously.

"Littlefinger?" he asked surprised, then nodded. "Hmmm. It makes sense, I suppose. He was a friend to your mother."

 _Obsessed with my mother, you mean._ "Aunt Lysa died, and then Lord Petyr died, but some of his knights agreed to escort me to where ever I wanted to go. My only choices were Lord Manderly and the King, and I decided to try the King. Ser Lothor said, and I agreed, that the Northern Lords would support him if they knew he were keeping me safe, and the Lords of the Vale agreed to support him, as well. So I went to the King and offered him thirty thousand fighting men in return for protection."

Tyrion whistled appreciatively. "Lord Connington is right," he smiled. "History will show that it was Lady Sansa who turned the tides."

Sansa blushed. "I am blessed to have good advisors."

Tyrion waved her words away. "A fool can have good advisors and he will still be a fool. Don't discount yourself, Sansa, you're wiser than you know. And I've a feeling there is much more to this story that you're not telling me."

"Oh, much, much more," she agreed fervently. "It was all so horrible, and I was always so afraid. But I don't want to talk about that," she said in a rush. "Tell me about Pentos. Was it everything you'd dreamed?"

They sat talking for hours, drinking wine and nibbling from the tray of cakes that had been brought with the wine. He told her of his travels, although he omitted some of the more harrowing parts, making it all sound exciting. Then he asked her about where she'd been, and although she tried to omit the more harrowing parts, he pressed gently until she told him all of it.

"We have fantastic tales to tell our children of our adventures," he said softly.

Sansa smiled sadly. "It didn't feel like an adventure at the time," she admitted. "It was terrifying. I just wanted to go home, but I don't have a home to go to anymore."

"You'll always have a home, Sansa," Tyrion said quietly. "I know that I'm not the tall, handsome knight of your dreams, nor a dashing king asking you to be my queen. But I am your husband, and you are dear to me. As long as I have a home, you do as well."

Sansa's eyes searched his face for a moment. "I'm not the Lady of Winterfell, Warden of the North anymore," she said quietly. "Bran is Lord, or Ricken. My children won't inherit the title or the lands."

"I'm rather inclined to believe that works in our favor," Tyrion said lightly. "Wardens of the West and the North? That would be hard to manage."

"And the East," she added. "Until Lord Robert comes of age."

Tyrion chuckled. "Good heavens. I know that you'll want to go to White Harbor to see Ricken, and even up to Winterfell. But perhaps we'll allow Manderly or Umber to act as Warden of the North and East?" he asked kindly. "Perhaps we could just focus our attention on the West."

"I don't have lands, or a title," she said uncertainly. "I'm just….an impoverished orphan."

"Perhaps you are an orphan," Tyrion smiled. "But you're a Lannister. You'll never be impoverished."

Still she stared at him, her thoughts swirling in her head.

Tyrion frowned a bit, reaching for her hands. "Sansa, where is all of this coming from?"

"I know that you only married me for my claim to Winterfell, because Lord Tywin wouldn't name you his heir," she blurted. "And now that you have Casterly Rock, and I don't have a title or lands to give you….."

Tyrion smiled. "Your title and lands never mattered to me."

Her heart was racing. She wanted to drop the subject, to go back to the very pleasant evening they'd been having. But if she'd learned nothing else in the last three years, she'd learned that it was better to face things head on. She couldn't pretend like the King's words didn't exist.

"I haven't decided yet what I'll do," she said softly, uncertainly, her eyes intent on his face. "Lord Manderly wants me to come to White Harbor, but of course, the King has asked me to stay here…."

 _And become his queen_. The words remained unsaid, but Tyrion heard them as clearly as if she'd yelled. His stomach turned as he remembered the conversation he'd had with the King.

"She was forced to marry you, and you weren't given much choice in the matter either, from what I've heard," he'd said with his usual careless arrogance. "After all of the help you've both given me, the least I can do for you is to set it aside."

"While I thank you for the consideration, Your Majesty, I have no wish to set aside my marriage." Tyrion had felt dread creeping through him. He'd been hearing whispers that the King was obviously in love with Lady Stark. But Lord Connington had kept him so busy the last few days, overseeing the dismantling of Qyburn's laboratory and finding people who'd conveniently disappeared, he hadn't even had time to find her.

"But the lady may wish it," the King had said. "And you couldn't have been too interested, as you never bothered to consummate it." Lord Connington had looked up sharply from his papers then, pinning the king with a sharp stare, and Tyrion had realized that he may have an ally in this, in John Connington.

"She was a child of ten and three," Tyrion had replied, struggling to keep his anger – and fear – in check. "Her entire family had been butchered, her father beheaded before her very eyes, and then her mother and oldest brother murdered. Her sister disappeared to only the gods know where, her youngest brothers killed by a boy she'd grown up with. And then she was forced to marry me. No, Your Majesty, I did not force her to my bed. Fool that I am, I thought to give her time to grieve, and to get to know me."

"Well, that may not have worked in your favor," the King laughed.

Tyrion had leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table before him. His heart was pounding, and his mouth had gone suddenly dry. "Do you mean to tell me, Your Majesty, that after all I've done to assist you, you will repay me by stealing my wife? You, who can have any woman in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and yet the one you've decided you must have is _my wife_?" The King's smiled died in the face of Tyrion's seriousness.

"When you were rotting in prison, I saved your life," the King began hotly, but Tyrion interrupted him.

"No, Your Majesty, you did not. Varys saved my life, and then sent me to you as a gift. But since I've been with you, I've served – by your own admission – most excellently. Not only in matters of strategy and tactics, but in convincing Dany not only to give up her quest for the Iron Throne, but to support yours. And in return for all of this, you will take my wife?"

The King glared at him furiously. "It is for the lady to decide," he'd said tightly. "She and I have already had numerous discussions about it."

"Numerous?" Tyrion had said with a small smile. "And yet, she had not given you an answer." Perhaps there was hope after all.

"She wishes to personally thank you for the kindness you have shown her. That is all."

"Are you so certain, Your Majesty?" Tyrion asked. "Apparently, neither my lady wife nor I wish our marriage to be set aside. Tell me, if she decides that she wishes to remain Lady Lannister, should I fear an assassin? Will you remove the small obstacle that stands between you and what you want?"

The King only glared at him.

"It is a legitimate question, Your Majesty, and I would have an answer. If my only choices are to set aside my marriage and live, or remain married and die, I need to know."

"Enough," Lord Connington had said from his place across the room. The King turned to look at him, fury all over him. "You have said the lady can decide. Give her time to do so. But be prepared, my King. She may not choose as you would like."

Now, sitting next to Sansa, holding her hand, talking to her, he'd allowed himself to forget everything. Of course she wouldn't want to remain married to him, especially not when the newly crowned King had made it plain to everyone that he wanted her as his queen. And well intentioned fool that he was, he'd never consummated their marriage. She'd been so excited to see him, he'd thought that perhaps she'd missed him as well. But she'd only been excited that her brothers were alive.

"I married you because Lord Tywin ordered me to," he said slowly, releasing her hands. "It's true that Lord Tywin had said that he'd never name me his heir, but I wasn't so sure that my father was willing to give my inheritance away. I hadn't given up hope of one day being the Lord of Casterly Rock, so I certainly didn't marry you with the intention of becoming Lord of Winterfell. But I knew that if I disobeyed Lord Tywin, any hope of becoming his heir would be lost. Besides, you were – are – a sweet girl, and I'd become fond of you. I wanted to protect you from Jeoffery, and help you to heal from everything that had happened. Once we were married, I'd hoped that…." He stopped, not willing to bare his heart so that it could be trampled on again. When will it end, he wondered, fighting the wave of despair that seemed to engulf him. His every hope and dream were continuously crushed. When would it end? When would he have his chance to be happy? Shaking his head and composing himself, he forced a smile to his face. "You will be a beautiful queen, my lady. And I wish you and King Aegon every happiness." He scooted away from her and rose, turning to get his doublet from the chair.

Sansa stared at him, stunned. They'd been having such a lovely evening, everything had been so wonderful. "Is that what you want? To set our marriage aside?" she whispered.

Tyrion smiled sadly. "All I wanted was for you to have a chance to be happy," he said softly. "Happiness is a dream I've pursued most of my life it seems, and it is ever slipping from my grasp. I'd hoped that one of us could have it." He turned to leave.

"You didn't answer the question," she said, rising from her seat. "Do you want to set our marriage aside?"

Tyrion stopped, sighing a bit, wishing desperately for a cup of wine. Or a bottle. He took a deep breath, then turned to face her. Why was she so beautiful, he wondered desperately? Why couldn't she be ugly and horrid and mean? It would make it all so much easier. "Yes," he choked out. "Yes, I want our marriage to be set aside, so that I can move on with my life, so that _we_ can move on. Now that I know you are well…it's for the best." The lie burned on his tongue.

She took a shuddering breath, her eyes filling with tears.

"Sansa, please," Tyrion said roughly. "Please don't do this. For once in my miserable, wretched life, I just want to be happy." After everything he'd been through, all of the betrayals and the hate, he wouldn't have thought her rejection would hurt this much. But it did. It sliced him to his core. "I just want…..to give you what you want, so that we both can finally be happy. Haven't we earned that, at least?"

"If ending our marriage will make you happy, then by all means, do so," she said through her tears. "But please do not deceive yourself, my lord. You are not giving me what I want. You don't know what I want, you haven't asked. Like everyone else, you assume."

Forget the cup, and the jug. He wanted the entire vineyard. His shoulders slumped a bit, but he walked back towards her, dropping his doublet back onto the chair. "Tell me, Lady Sansa. What is it that you want?"

"I want a home, and a family. Children. I want a husband who loves me," she whispered.

"The King will give you all of those things, my lady." Tyrion forced the words out.

"But…..I don't want to be his queen," she said haltingly, realizing the truth of the words as soon as she spoke them. "I don't want to be queen any more than I really _want_ to be Warden of the North."

Tyrion looked away, just wanting to be done, to go drown himself in a vat of wine and forget this night ever existed. If he drank enough, perhaps he could forget that _she_ ever existed. She and Shae and Tysha….. "Then what do you want?" he asked, suddenly tired.

She paused for a moment as her swirling thoughts finally settled into place. "The husband of my dreams," she said slowly, "is not tall and handsome. He isn't a prince, or even a knight. But he's kind," she smiled softly. "He's so very kind, even though he says he doesn't know how to be. He's wise, one of the most intelligent men in the Seven Kingdoms. Smart enough to advise the King, smart enough to run the Seven Kingdoms himself. He's strong. Not the physical strength of a warrior, but strength of character. He would never hurt me, and he would die protecting me. He loves me more than anything." She sank back to her seat on the sofa as she realized for the first time that their marriage hadn't only been forced on her but on him as well. He may not want to be married to her. Perhaps there was someone else he wanted, perhaps that was why he hadn't bothered consummating their marriage. There was so much she didn't know, but she'd come this far and she wasn't going to run back to the North, to Lord Manderly, without at least trying. "I don't want to marry a boy who is infatuated with me, I want a man who loves me. Tyrion, I want you."

Tyrion stared at her for a moment, stunned speechless. He frowned, wondering if he'd misheard her. Perhaps his heart had been so desperate to hear her say…..but she was right in front of him, her heart in her eyes, tears on her cheeks. He backed away, determined not to make a fool of himself. Her eyes widened, and she started to reach for him. Then she stopped, pulling her hand back into her lap, pressing her lips tightly together, and closing her eyes as her shoulders slumped, and she dropped her head.

By the gods. She wanted _him_.

He came forward to take her face in his hands, staring at her in stunned wonder. Then he kissed her. He moved from her lips to her eyes, then her nose and cheeks, her chin and ears, then back to her mouth. He forced himself to pull away before he took her there on the floor. "Oh, the King is going to be angry," he said with a chuckle, resting his head against hers.

Sansa grinned. "Yes, he will," she said, wrapping her arm around him and pulling him close. He climbed back onto the sofa, on his knees beside her. "Now may be a good time for us to return to Casterly Rock for a bit. He'll be bitterly angry at both of us, until some other pretty girl crosses his path and smiles at him. Then he'll forget all about me." She ran her fingers lightly through his beard, and he closed his eyes briefly on a sigh.

"I don't know about that," Tyrion breathed, his lips so close to hers that she could feel the hair of his beard on her face. "You are rather unforgettable."

The next morning Alinor came into Sansa's room with her tray, calling out a cheerful 'good morning,' and almost dropped the tray in shock as she saw Tyrion putting on his doublet. "Good morning, Alinor," he said with a smile, taking a piece of bacon from Sansa's tray. "I'll see you this evening." He grinned to her as Sansa blushed furiously from her place in the bed.

"Of course, my lord," Alinor said with a wide grin and a small curtsey. "Please let me know if there's anything you'll need."

"I'll send my squire Podrick around," he said cheerfully. He'd been relieved to have the boy return to him with Jamie, although if what he'd said was true…..Tyrion pushed the thought away to deal with another time. "Between the two of you, I'm sure you'll get the two of us squared away," he continued. "These rooms are larger, so we'll stay here until we return to Casterly Rock." He looked to the bed, where Sansa had practically buried herself beneath the blankets. "Have a good day, my lady."

"And you, my lord," came the muffled reply. Tyrion laughed softly as he left the room.

Alinor squealed in delight as soon as he'd closed the door. "Come from under there!" she laughed, rushing over to the bed and pulling the blankets away from Sansa who snatched them back to cover her nakedness. "Oh stop it, I bathe you, it's not like I haven't seen you undressed before!" She found Sansa's robe and gave it to her. "Here you are, Lady _Lannister_ ," she teased.

Sansa smiled ruefully. "You do know that I've been Lady Lannister for as long as you've known me." She eagerly approached her tray, suddenly ravenous.

"Of course I know," Alinor said as she started gathering the sheets. "But I supposed now you're –" she stopped, staring at the smear of blood on the sheet before her.

Sansa blushed but said nothing. Alinor didn't either, just finished gathering the sheets and left the room, returning with fresh ones. After she finished making the bed, she helped Sansa to dress, bringing extra water unbidden, but smiling the entire time.

As she left her rooms to go meet with the castle steward, she received a note from Lord Connington.

 _My Lady –_

 _Margeary Tyrell and her cousins are being released today. The ladies are returning immediately to their homes, escorts await them. However, the King would like you to escort Lady Margeary back to the keep. I have assigned her a room that is on the third floor, and easily guarded. Ensure that she is aware that she is still a prisoner. She will not be allowed to leave her room, except under guard. Her father will visit with her later this evening._

 _J. Connington_

Twelve guards followed her carriage to The Great Sept to meet the freed ladies. The escorts were already waiting – five guards per girl, charged with seeing each girl safely to her nearest kin. Sansa hugged them all fiercely, and they all waited together for Margeary to appear. But the High Sparrow told them that they would not be allowed to wait, and that they needed to be on their way. Sansa tried to ask him to reconsider, but he refused to budge. Margeary would not be released until all of the girls had departed. Finally, Margeary appeared, wearing a thin wool dress and plain wool cloak. Sansa bundled her into the carriage, thanking the High Sparrow for his assistance.

"Sansa," Margeary said tiredly. "Could your girl ride with the driver? I'd like to talk to you alone."

Sansa hesitated – it was bitterly cold outside – but ultimately nodded. Alinor smiled at her and tightened her cloak as she stepped out.

Margeary was silent as the coach began to move. "Why did he send so many guards?" she asked. "He had to know that I won't try to run away."

"I don't know," Sansa answered honestly. "He only asked me to escort you back to the keep, and to make sure that you understand that you are still a prisoner. You won't be allowed to leave your room, except under guard."

Margeary nodded, her pretty face twisted into a bitter frown. "What of my father?" she asked. "Is he alright?'

Sansa nodded. "I saw him yesterday, he looked tired but well. He'll visit with you tonight. I've heard," she hesitated. "I've heard that he's lost Highgarden. The King plans to leave it under the care of the Prince of Dorne until he chooses a new Warden."

Margeary stared at her. "But our family has been rulers of Highgarden and Warden of the South for generations," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

Sansa could only hold her hand tightly. "I know," she said.

It took Margeary a few moments to visibly compose herself. "Do you know if I'll be allowed to attend the wedding and feast, at least? Since we are friends," she asked, trying to smile.

"What wedding?" Sansa asked, confused.

"Yours, silly girl," Margeary laughed. "All of the septa's are talking about it, the High Sparrow agreed immediately to put aside your marriage to Lord Tyrion."

Sansa blushed. "I won't be marrying the King," she said firmly. "I'm already married."

Margeary was surprised. "Why not? I know Lord Tyrion is a powerful man, but not more so than the King. And the septa's have all said that the King is obviously smitten with you."

"That may well be, but I will remain married to Tyrion. It was my choice," she said when Margeary tried to speak. "I don't want to be queen. I want to stay with Tyrion."

Margeary look at her as if she were crazed. "But, why?"

"Because he's good to me, and kind. Because he cares for me. I love him, and I want to be with him more than I want to be queen, or even Warden of the North," Sansa said stubbornly.

Margeary gasped in horror. "Sansa, how can you possibly be in love with that deformed Imp? You know that he killed his own father? And Jeoffery as well!"

Sansa raised a brow. "I will thank you to watch your tongue when you speak of my husband," she said icily, releasing Margeary's hand. "Tyrion has been pardoned of any crimes he may have committed, and there is no firm evidence that he killed anyone, and I know for fact that he did _not_ kill Jeoffery. There is more to a man than his face, I would have thought Jeoffery would have taught you that. But perhaps you weren't married to him long enough to know." Margeary was shaking her head, a look of mild panic on her face. "He didn't order your father beheaded before your eyes, and then force you to face his head on a pike," Sansa continued hotly. "Your father was there to protect you, so Jeoffery never convened a mock court to convict you of your family's alleged crimes. He didn't order his Kingsguard to rip your dress from your body and beat you while a crowd looked on. He didn't threaten to rape you at every turn, even after you were married to someone else. No," she said when Margeary tried to speak. "I would rather have my 'deformed Imp' than any of your kings, all of whom I might add, are dead. And your life is in a rather precarious position, isn't it? I suppose being queen isn't all you thought it'd be."

The carriage stopped, and Ser Tomas opened the door, extending a hand to assist Sansa, then Margeary. "Please escort Lady Margeary to her room," Sansa said coolly to the guards.

"Sansa, wait, please," Margeary said desperately. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I was surprised, that's all. Please, don't be angry with me," she begged. "You're the only friend I have."

Sansa regarded her for a long moment, and then nodded once. Her eyes flickered to the guard and they took Margeary by each arm and led her away. Sansa and Alinor followed behind slowly. As they turned the corner to the stairs, she saw the King, Tyrion, and Lord Connington, watching them. Margeary tried to bow as she passed them but the guards kept moving. The King called out to Sansa as she passed them. "Whatever did she say to you?" he asked curiously.

Sansa paused. "Something of a personal nature, that I would rather not discuss, Your Majesty," she finally replied.

He smiled, a bit wickedly. "It's just that Tyrion and I have a small wager," he grinned. "I think she said something about me, but he says it was something about your family."

Sansa raised a brow, glancing to Tyrion, who simply raised a brow in return. She swallowed a smile. "My lord husband knows me well," she said, unaware of how her gaze softened when she looked at him. "If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty, Lady Margeary needs a hot meal and a bath. I also need to ensure that her clothes have been taken to her room, what the septa's have dressed her in is woefully inadequate for this weather." She curtseyed and turned away, not understanding why the King suddenly looked so angry.

Lord Connington sighed a bit, knowing that a tantrum was on the way. He'd had an idea that the girl wanted someone else when she hadn't jumped at the offer to become queen. But it hadn't occurred to him that the 'someone' would be Tyrion Lannister, especially once he'd seen the handsome knight from the Vale who'd been pursuing her. The King stared after her for a few moments, then continued on the way they'd been headed.

"I plan to have your marriage set aside," he said abruptly, after a few minutes of walking.

"I am aware of your intention, Your Majesty," Tyrion said carefully. "However, you may find that a bit…..difficult to accomplish."

"And why is that?" the King asked.

"Because my marriage is valid," Tyrion said.

"But not consummated."

"On the contrary, it is very much consummated."

The king stopped, turning to face Tyrion angrily. "Since when?" he demanded.

Tyrion paused, carefully considering how to best answer. "I was not aware that the intimacies between my lady wife and I would be a subject of public discussion," he said quietly. "However I assure you, it is done."

The king looked murderous. "If you forced her –" he began quietly.

"I did no such thing," Tyrion ground out, furious that the boy would even insinuate such a thing. "I have already lost her once, I have no plans to do so again. And so my marriage is good and well consummated, with my lady wife's full agreement and participation. She has chosen to remain Lady Lannister."

"And why would she choose you over me?" the King sneered.

"I have no idea, and the fact was as unexpected to me as it is to you," Tyrion said honestly. "I only thank the gods that she did."

The King opened his mouth to speak but Lord Connington laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Enough," he said, quietly but firmly. "She is another man's wife. You have always known that."

The King stood there, glaring murderously at Tyrion, then turned and stalked away. Lord Connington nodded to the guards and they fell in behind him, leaving he and Tyrion standing alone in the hall.

"We knew he would be angry," Tyrion said quietly. "We plan to leave for Casterly Rock soon. She's never seen it, and perhaps her absence will give him room to become infatuated with someone else."

Lord Connington stared for a moment as the King rapidly distanced himself from them. "That might not be for the best," he said. "The boy has his grandfather's ability to hold a grudge. If you leave, he'll forget, yes. Until you return."

"And the feelings will return with us," Tyrion said on a sigh.

Lord Connington nodded. "It will be uncomfortable, but it would be best for you and Lady Sansa to stay," he said. "He needs to face it, so that he can move on."

Nodding, Tyrion turned to follow the King, Lord Connington falling in beside him. "Lord Lannister, I am hoping that you'll consider staying on in King's Landing, semi-permanently."

"Oh?" Tyrion asked, curiously. "May I ask why?"

Lord Connington slowed his steps. "I will not always be his Hand," he said slowly. "And I want to ensure that someone trustworthy will take my place. I hope that it will be you."

Tyrion looked at him in surprise. "Are you planning to leave, my lord?"

Lord Connington paused, then jerked his head in some semblance of a nod. "My job with the boy is done," he said gruffly. "I am thinking of returning to Pentos." It wasn't a lie. He'd thought long and hard about leaving, going somewhere and taking his own life before the grayscale could claim it.

Tyrion watched him, consideringly. "Have you spoken to him about it?" he asked.

"No," he said, with a quick shake of his head. "He will not take it well. But all of this….the political maneuvering and diplomacy and the endless meetings…it is more than I want to manage."

Tyrion nodded slowly, then turned to follow the King. "I would need some time," he said. "I have promised Sansa that I will take her North for a bit, to Winterfell. And I have business at Casterly Rock," he sighed. The Second Sons were hounding him for payment.

"I don't intent to be here that long," Lord Connington surprised him by saying. "A few months, at most."

Tyrion turned to him in surprise. "A few months? Is there a hurry, my lord? Surely you can give him another year of your time?"

"No," Lord Connington said gruffly. "I cannot. I can give him a few months. I hope you'll be prepared to step in. You are a skilled player at the political game, Lord Lannister, as was your father before you. And I have full faith that you will guide him successfully." He turned to enter the meeting room, leaving Tyrion in the hall, staring after him.


	6. Chapter 6

Tyrion groaned as he finally walked into Jamie's cel, climbing onto the narrow bed as the servant behind him set a tray on Jamie's lap before leaving. The guard nodded to Tyrion, murmuring "My lord," and pushed the door closed with a loud clang.

"I hate those stairs," Tyrion sighed. He rubbed his aching thighs briskly.

"Now that you've come down them, you'll have to go back up," Jamie smiled slightly.

"Don't remind me." Tyrion groaned again.

"So what brings you? And with food, no less." He picked up the roll with his left hand, his right sitting still beside him, the skin of the amputated wrist pale. It had healed well, Tyrion noted. The golden hand had of course been confiscated, but Tyrion had managed to have it removed from Lord Corbray's possession, and it was safely hidden.

Tyrion looked at his brother. "Can I not wish to see my brother, my only living sibling?" He regretted the words the instant they were out. Although Jamie had known that Cercei would die, he was taking her death badly. He'd lost she and Tommen and he hadn't even been there, he'd been a prisoner himself. All they knew of Myrcella was that she was safely in Dorne, under the watchful eye of the Prince. He'd heard rumors that she'd been kidnapped, and some of Lord Tarly's men swore they'd seen her in the Reach. But the General assured them that she was with the Princes Doran and Trystane, and that they all were safe.

Jamie only smiled sadly. "I'm always happy to see you, you know that. But given the stairs and the pain they cause you, I assume there's a greater purpose."

Tyrion sighed and sat quietly, giving himself a chance to rest and Jamie a chance to eat. When he was done, Tyrion spoke.

"I wanted to see you, and make sure you were well." Although Jamie had been in the palace for weeks now, he'd been forbidden from seeing him. Even now, he was pushing the King's graces by being here.

"I'm as well as I can be," Jamie shrugged. "Have you seen Brienne?"

Tyrion shook his head. "Her father has asked she be released and returned to him. I believe the King is inclined to agree, as there are no charges against her and if what she said is true, she was kidnapped herself."

"It is."

"I need you to tell me," Tyrion said slowly. He'd heard the story second hand from Mace Tyrell, and bits and pieces from Pod. He needed to hear it from Jamie. He needed to be sure.

He sat silently as Jamie told him about the Brotherhood Without Banners, and Beric Dondarrien and the Red Priest Thoros, and Caitlyn Stark and Brienne and Pod. "Honestly, had the army not come our way I don't know that we would have survived," Jamie admitted. "Brienne is a better swordfighter than most, and I'm passable with my left hand. We'd gotten away from them a few times, but they always tracked us down. When we heard the army coming, they scattered and Pod, Brienne, and I allowed ourselves to be captured. It was our only salvation."

Tyrion sat silently, mulling his brother's words. "And you're sure it was Caitlyn Stark?"

"I saw her with my own eyes," Jamie said. "Her hair's gone gray, and she looks old as a crone. But it's her."

"Did you actually see this priest, Thoros, bring back the dead?" he asked curiously.

Jamie shook his head. "No," he admitted. "But one thing Caitlyn Stark has never been is a liar. And several of the men said they'd seen it. Ask Brienne, she knows."

Tyrion nodded slowly. "I will."

They sat silently for long moments, each lost in his thoughts. "So," Jamie said eventually. "Have you decided if you'll take a new bride? Casterly Rock needs a lady," he smiled slightly.

Tyrion smiled. "Ah, you haven't heard. Sansa and I are still married."

"Oh?" Jamie looked surprised. "I'd heard the King was planning to set your marriage aside. The guards have said that he's obviously in love with Sansa."

"He is," Tyrion sighed. "But she has chosen to remain Lady Lannister." Jamie was silent. "Yes, I know," Tyrion smiled. "It was a surprise to me, too."

"It doesn't surprise me," Jamie grunted gruffly. "Our sweet little Sansa is no fool. Oh, she was young and silly, as most girls her age are. But she's also a Stark, and the only one who's managed to stay alive."

"Not the only," Tyrion said. "Her youngest brother, Ricken, the baby. He's also alive. The other boy, Bran, may be as well."

Jamie's brow rose. "That's the boy that fell from the tower? He lived?"

Tyrion nodded. "Yes, apparently. He's gone farther north, Lord Manderly hopes to send some men to look for him."

Jamie nodded slowly, looking down at his empty tray.

Sighing, Tyrion pushed himself from the bed. "Well, I'd best work on getting up the stairs," he said, his voice resigned. He'd end the day in massive amounts of pain, but it couldn't be helped. "I'll try to check on you as often as I can."

Jamie nodded. "Has the King made any decisions regarding my life?" he asked.

"Not yet," Tyrion assured him. "I'm still trying to convince him to allow you to live in exchange for your aid. It helps that others have also said that you and Cercei had fought, and that you'd left. And, that you were willing to talk when you were captured. And so far, everything you'd told them is true. I'm pushing for exile. I know it's not ideal, but at least you'd be alive."

Jamie nodded sadly. His heart still ached from the loss of Jeoffrey, and now Tommen and Cercei. He'd never wanted to see her dead. And his children… he hadn't dared hope that he'd be allowed to return home to Casterly Rock, but if Bran Stark really were alive exile might be the better option. He sighed heavily, his mind filled with regrets. His father, sister, and children, all gone. All he had left was his brother.

"Tyrion," he called as the guard opened the door. "You're a good man. The best of us. I wish you much happiness, little brother."

Tyrion looked at his brother sadly. "Thank you," he said softly. He wanted to say more, to reassure or console him somehow but instead made himself turn and leave, keeping himself from wincing when he heard the door clang shut with an effort. He knew what it felt like to be there, waiting for someone else to decide your fate. He would do everything in his power to keep him alive, including arranging a rescue. He didn't know how, but he couldn't just let him die.

He had to wonder if Caitlyn Stark really were alive. Sansa would be thrilled. But how would Lady Caitlyn feel to see her daughter married to him, a Lannister, and the Lady of Casterly Rock? If everything Jamie had said was true, he couldn't image that she hadn't changed drastically. He'd have to arrange a search for her. She'd want to know that Ricken and Sansa were alive and well, even if she weren't enthused about her daughter's husband, given Jamie's assertion that she wanted to see everyone named Frey and Lannnister dead. He'd direct her to White Harbor, and send a note to Lord Manderly with his son.

Sansa didn't see the King for almost a week, although she knew that Tyrion saw him every day. She occupied herself with overseeing the domestic running of the castle – which the steward grumbled about, Cercei had never taken such an interest – and social obligations. "The kingdom is drowning in debt, and completely without funds," Tyrion told her. "But the Lannisters are not. The best way to signal that this war is truly over is to start entertaining."

And so Sansa was making plans to have a few ladies join her for the midday meal, and perhaps a small dinner party. "I need to find out if Lord Tyrion plans to have the King attend," she told Alinor one afternoon as they returned from the castle storage rooms, where she'd been looking for a few items to decorate their rooms. "And Queen Daenerys, she's still here so it would be horribly rude to ignore her."

"Well, we mustn't be rude," a light voice behind her said. Sansa turned and found the object of her discussion standing before her. She immediately dropped to a curtsey.

"Your Majesty," she said politely. "I didn't realize you were there."

"Please rise," Dany said with a small smile. She took a moment to appraise the young woman before her. The last time she'd seen her she'd been wrapped in armor and covered in travel dust. Dany realized that she was truly beautiful, and appeared poised and confident. "You're Tyrion's Sansa."

Sansa blushed a bit at the description, although she found that she liked it. "Yes, Your Majesty," she smiled.

The girl was infatuated with her husband. Dany realized the thought pleased her. Tyrion was a good man, and he deserved a woman who loved him. And this highborn beauty was a prize any man would value. "My nephew is very fond of you," she said.

Sansa's smile turned a bit sad. "I am fond of him as well, King Aegon is a good friend to me." _I hope._

"A friend," Dany said musingly. "He wanted to make you his queen."

Sansa nodded, a bit uncomfortably. "Yes."

"And yet, you blush when I mention Tyrion's name."

Sure enough, Sansa's cheeks reddened. "Lord Tyrion is my husband," she said primly, unsure of how to respond. But the Queen seemed satisfied with the answer.

"Tell me, what is it that you're debating inviting me to?"

"Tyrion has asked me to host a few social events," she explained. "To have a few ladies for lunch, and perhaps a small dinner party."

"Oh," the Queen said with a small frown. "I would think that there are other obligations to attend to."

"There are," Sansa assured her. "And His Majesty and his Hand will attend to them. But there is no better way to assure everyone that the war is over than to begin entertaining."

"Hmmmm." Her tone was disapproving. "I wish the King were more interested in feeding his people, not entertaining them."

Sansa nodded. She'd been disturbed to see the amount of poor and homeless within the city's walls. "When I was a child growing up at Winterfell, my mother ensured that everyone had food and warm clothes," she said softly. "She said it was our duty to provide for them, until they could provide for themselves."

The Queen smiled sadly. "I'm sure my nephew has his reasons," she sighed. "But….perhaps you could speak with him about it."

"I haven't seen the King in days," Sansa said politely. She was fairly certain that it was intentional, given the conversation that Tyrion had told her they'd had about her, and that their marriage was 'good and well consummated.' She felt her cheeks warm and smothered a giggle. It wasn't a lie. They'd been consummating it regularly since they'd been back together.

"Oh, give it time," Dany said lightly, wondering what had caused the lady's cheeks to redden again. "I'm sure that will change. Do you go into the city often?"

Sansa shook her head. "Tyrion prefers that I don't, until everything has settled down a bit." And Sansa remembered all too well the mob they'd encountered the day Myrcella had sailed for Dorne. If she did go, she was heavily guarded.

"I would like to go," the queen said wistfully. "But I've been told the same. Perhaps they'd allow us to go together?"

Sansa smiled. "Perhaps."

Dany smiled and hooked her arm through Sansa's, walking back towards the main keep. "I think we'll be friends," she said.

Only hours later, Sansa was summoned to speak with the King. Tyrion was there when she arrived, as well as Lord Tyrell, Lord Tarly, Lord Umber – who grinned broadly at her, winking – and Lord Connington.

"I know the boy," Tyrion was saying. "He's not the type to panic. If he's this distressed, something is very wrong."

"I have to agree with Lord Lannister," Lord Umber said. "I've known the boy his entire life. He's steady as they come, just like his father was. If he says it's something, then it is."

"And we also heard from them about two years ago, right before the war started in full," Tyrion added. "They sent a man all the way here to Kings Landing to ask for assistance."

"What did the queen do?" Lord Connington asked.

"I was acting Hand at the time. He said they needed men and supplies, so I gave him some of each. I spoke with the man in private, and he expressed grave concerns about the white walkers and the fact that they'd returned. My father returned not long after that and assumed his position as Hand, and so I do not know if they've requested any aid since then. But this," Tyrion picked up a piece of paper and waved it slightly, "is disturbing. If any part of this is even remotely true, we must act. It's worth investigating, at the least."

The King sat silently, lost in thought. "Lady Lannister," he said coldly, not looking up from the map he was studying. "Tell me about your brother, Jon Snow."

Sansa was surprised. "I'm not sure what you mean, Your Majesty?"

"His character," the King said, looking up at her. His purple eyes, once so kind, were like frozen amethysts. "What type of man is he?"

Sansa paused, thinking. It had been years since she'd seen Jon, and she didn't know how he had changed. "He was always very calm, very stoic." She hesitated. "My mother disliked him, because he was my father's natural son, and only a bit older than her firstborn, Robb. She always resented the fact that he was at Winterfell, and that my father insisted that he be raised with us. He learned to live in the face of that disapproval, and to do whatever he had to do without complaint or grumbling. He was always the most responsible of us."

"Is he the type to panic?" Lord Tarly asked roughly. "Overreact?"

"No," Sansa said instantly. "No, he's more likely to try to handle everything on his own first, and then, only when it can no longer be helped, seek assistance."

"Fine. Arrange to send some men to investigate," the King said to Tyrion, then turned again to Sansa. "I need you to do something for me."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Befriend my aunt. Then convince her to give up this ridiculous plan." He snapped each word out like it was painful. Sansa didn't know if his anger was towards her, or Queen Daenerys. Most likely both.

"I will do my best," she assured him. He nodded, obviously done with her. "Your Majesty?" she said softly.

He looked up, irritated.

"Only this morning, the Queen and I were discussing the state of the residents of the city," she said. "Could we offer some type of assistance? Food, or blankets? Medical care, perhaps?"

"There is no money for that," he ground out. "As I'm sure your _husband_ has told you." She ignored his emphasis on the word, looking instead mutely to Tyrion.

He raised a brow, opened his mouth to speak and then sighed, fighting a smile. If all the girl had to do was look at him and he'd give her anything, she would soon be spoiled rotten. The thought pleased him. "Fine," he said. "I'll pay for it." Sansa smiled brightly.

"Perhaps I can ask the Queen to assist me," she said. "As she is more familiar with humanitarian efforts than I am. And it would help her to see the residents of King's Landing as people, people who need her help. I'm sure that would make it much more difficult for her to contemplate raining dragonfire down on them."

"That's a good idea," Lord Umber said with a broad grin.

Lord Connington nodded. "Yes, it is. A very good idea."

"And with my lord husband's permission, of course," she gestured politely to Tyrion, "we will tell everyone that it all came from you. That should help to settle some of the unrest in the city." And hopefully once the people were fed, happy and devoted to the King, she and the Queen could go into the city without an entire squadron of soldiers.

The King didn't want to admit that it was a good idea, but Sansa could see in his eyes that he was pleased. He didn't say anything, just waved her away. She curtseyed to the room in general. "My lords," she said by way of farewell, then turned and left.

Sansa needed to find out from Tyrion exactly how much money he could afford to commit before she began her planning. It was time for the evening meal before he appeared, limping badly.

He took her hands and smiled as she leaned to kiss him. "You, my love, are brilliant," he said.

Sansa blushed. "It was just a thought I'd had, after speaking with the Queen this morning."

"Your thought might be our saving grace," he said, sitting at the table with a sigh. "The people are restless, mumbling and complaining, thinking they've traded one selfish ruler for another."

"Well before I can start planning, I do need to talk to you," she said uncertainly. "I need a budget."

Tyrion groaned a bit, reaching for his wine. "I really won't know until I get to Casterly Rock and review the accounts," he said. "The Second Sons are becoming increasingly belligerent in their demands for payment, I've got to get them taken care of. And the Iron Bank is willing to negotiate the thrones debt but only if a sizable payment is made up front. Also, the King and I agree that Ser Lothor should be gifted a small amount of land for all of his help." Sansa gasped, and smiled.

"I wanted to suggest that, but I only could offer lands in the North, and I know he doesn't want to go there," she said happily.

Tyrion nodded. "I'm not mistaken, Springwood Hall is currently in need of a lord. But I'll have to check when I arrive."

She nodded. "When will we leave?"

Tyrion hesitated, putting down his fork. "Love, I'm going to go alone."

She stared at him blankly.

"I need you to befriend Dany," he said in a rush. "She's never had a friend her age, not an equal. I believe you can change her mind." He reached for her hand, holding it tightly. "John Connington isn't planning to stay on as Hand," he said quietly. "He's asked me to be prepared to step in. But he's planning to leave within a few months, and so I have to go quickly and return. I need you to be here. Host a few ladies for lunch. Have tea. Feed the poor, clothe them, build shelters. Spend Lannister coin, it will be good for the economy, and we can afford it. And tell everyone that the King sent you."

Sansa sighed and nodded, trying not to pout that he was leaving her behind. "Can we? Afford it? The Second Sons made you promise them a fortune."

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, they did, and the Iron Bank is almost as bad. But Lord Tywin was frugal. I won't know for certain until I get home but I'm fairly confident we can. And now that the war is over I should be able to get the mines back at full production, which will solve the problem, if there is one. I also need to ensure that my lands and lords are well."

She nodded again, wondering why she felt so panicked at the thought of him leaving. "When will you leave?"

"In a few days," he said gently. "The King has spared Jamie's life, but exiled him. He's asked to go see if Prince Doran will allow him to take Myrcella with him to the Free Cities. He'll ride home with me, then take the Ocean Road south to Highgarden, and continue on into Dorne." It would give him a chance to give Jamie some funds, to ensure that he and Myrcella would live comfortably, or at least give them a start.

"Tyrion," she said as a though came to her. "Who is their father? Cercei's children?"

He looked at her wryly. "Jaime." Her eyes widened. "Surely you heard the rumors?"

"Well, yes," she stuttered. "But I didn't think they were _true_."

He nodded grimly. "They are. It's why he wants Myrcella."

Sansa pondered that for a minute. Robb and Jon were both handsome men, but she couldn't imagine either of them touching her the way Tyrion did. Just the thought sent a slight shiver of revulsion through her. Tyrion chuckled. "Yes, I feel that way about it too."

Sansa was just realizing all of what he'd said before. "If you're Hand of the King, we won't be able to go to Winterfell," she said sadly.

"When I return from Casterly Rock, I doubt very much I'll be able to leave for a year, if not two," he said regretfully. "But perhaps when Lord Umber returns home, you can go with him."

She was shaking her head before he finished. "I'll wait until you can go with me, even if it takes a few years. Winterfell will still be there."

Tyrion just looked at her, wondering what he'd ever done to inspire such devotion. "What," she asked nervously, as he stared at her.

"I promise you Sansa," he said fervently. "I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life making you happy."

She wondered what had brought that on. "I know," she assured him, smiling. "You already do."

He and Jaime left a few days later. He'd instructed Ser Lothor not to let her out of his sight, and that he could pull from the palace guard for her protection as well, especially as she and Queen Daenerys began their work in the city.

Jaime took her hand as she said goodbye to him. Just looking at her brought to mind all of the regrets of that last few years, washing him in guilt and grief. He wanted badly to tell her that her mother hadn't died but Tyrion had asked him not to, not until they'd found her and ensured that she really were still alive.

"Please give Myrcella my love," she said. It seemed so long ago that they'd sat in the solar of Winterfell, working on their embroidery under the watchful eyes of their septa's.

"You're too good for our name," he said softly. He looked tired and worn, and it was still strange to see him out of the white worn by the Kingsguard.

"Then I suppose I'll have to bring some good to it," she said resolutely.

He smiled, a bit sadly. "If anyone can, little sister, you will." Impulsively, she hugged him.

"Take care of yourself," she whispered. "And take care of Lady Breinne." She still didn't know what to make of the muscular woman with the raw, ragged scar on her face.

Jaime chuckled. "She'll take care of me," he said. Releasing her, he climbed up onto his horse. "Produce a few golden haired heir's for us, Lady Lannister. And please keep an eye on my little brother."

Her eyes cut to Tyrion, who was mounting his own horse. "Oh him," she said airily. She shrugged. "He's small and easily managed." Jamie grinned broadly, and Tyrion's laughter rang through the courtyard as she walked over to his horse. She'd spent last night clinging to him, touching him in all the ways she'd learned he liked, delighting in every moan and whisper of her name.

He held out a hand and she took it tightly. "Only a month," he said softly. She nodded.

"Only a month. And I have plenty of work to do." She and the Queen had already begun planning.

"Sansa, please be careful," he said. "We're still searching for Qyburn, and Varys' little birds believe he's still in King's Landing. Whatever is keeping here him is tied to that monstrous laboratory he had down in the basement," he frowned. "I'm certain of it, and so is Varys. We don't know what he's looking for, but after seeing his experiments…..he's dangerous, love. Please be careful."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she assured him with a grin. "There's no longer a bounty on my head, so why would anyone want me?"

"Because you're dear to the King," Tyrion said instantly. "You could be used as a bargaining tool to influence him or force his hand. Or because your name is Lannister, and I've been obvious in my affection for you, it could correctly be assumed that I'd pay a small fortune to get you back. Or simply because you're Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Warden of the North and East. You, my love, are a very powerful young woman."

Sansa stared at him mutely, shocked. None of that had occurred to her.

Tyrion just shook his head in frustration. "I have so much to do, I wish I didn't have to leave now," he said. "But I need to get this out of the way. Lothor will keep track of you. Wear your sword," he ordered. "Take care of yourself." He leaned down and she leaned up, raising on her toes, and their mouths met in a deep kiss. "Only a month," he sighed when they broke apart.

She nodded and stepped back, and they all rode out the gate. She stood there forlornly, watching them all ride away, until Alinor came and put an arm around her shoulders, and Ser Tomas and Ser Milton approached. She smiled sadly and let them lead her away.


	7. Chapter 7

Her days were busy. She and the Queen met daily, often with Margeary, who was more familiar with the people of King's Landing, as she'd interacted with them during her short time as Queen.

They rode into the city, on horseback, much to the guards dismay. But Sansa needed to see what had to be done, and she couldn't from a carriage with the curtains drawn. Dany suggested a few locations for housing to be built, and Sansa talked with a few local bakers and seamstresses about making items for the people, which of course they would be reimbursed for. She also spoke with an innkeeper who was willing to feed people. "There's good people out there, milady," she said. "I've been doin' as much as I can with what I got. My stable has more people sleepin' in it than 'orses." She burst into tears when Dany pressed a velvet bag of gold dragons into her hand, promising them that she would feed and house as many as she could.

Sansa sent Alinor to bed early, assuring her that she could see to herself. "We've been doing a lot of work, and I need you well rested," she smiled affectionately. "Thank you for your help Alinor, I literally couldn't do all of this without you."

Alinor blushed. "It's my pleasure, my lady." She'd been thrilled when Lord Lannister had pulled her aside and told her that he was increasing her pay, and that he was very pleased with her work, and how much he trusted her to assist his lady. She worked hard but was paid well, and had a wonderful wardrobe and honestly, her lady was much more of a friend than an employer.

Sansa was about to go to bed herself when the King walked into her sitting room. "Your Majesty," she said, surprised, pulling her robe tighter around herself and rising to curtsey.

He waved her back to her chair, dropping unceremoniously onto the sofa. "How are you?" he asked with a grin. "I never see you anymore."

Sansa returned his smile. "I'm well, thank you. Busy. The Queen and I went into the city today."

"So I heard. How was it?"

"Fine," she assured him. "Of course, we had almost twenty guards. But we talked to a few restaurants and bakers about feeding people, and a few seamstresses about making warm clothes. And several stables are willing to house people at night, so they're not sleeping on the streets. There's a lot of work to be done."

He nodded absently, looking around the room. "These are nice rooms," he commented. "I've never seen them. Do you know, I still haven't seen over half the Keep?"

"I'm not sure I have either," she said wryly. "It's massive. And I'm sure your rooms are much nicer than these."

He shrugged. "I don't see much of them, either," he sighed. He rose, wandering over to the window to pull back the shutters and look out at the city pensively.

"What's bothering you?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer for a moment, then shrugged again. "Nothing. Everything." He was silent as Sansa rose and poured him a cup of spiced wine and brought it over, but he shook his head. "Do you have any tea? Or water? I need a clear head these days."

Nodding, she poured a cup of lemoned water and passed it to him. Murmuring his thanks, he continued to gaze out the window while she returned to her chair and waited for him to speak.

"Somehow, I didn't expect it to be this hard," he said thoughtfully. "I knew it would be difficult, but I just didn't think…." His voice trailed off, and he took another sip of water. "And once I met you, it honestly didn't occur to me that I'd have to do it alone." His eyes found hers.

Sansa blushed, unsure of what to say.

"Tell me Sansa, why is it that you chose to remain Lady Tyrion Lannister? I know he's rich, and although I'm a Targaryn and King, I'm definitely not. But I would make you Queen, your children princes and princesses." His voice was quiet.

"But I don't want to be Queen," she said softly. "I don't want my children to be in the place of Tommen and Myrcella, dying for their father's throne. Tyrion is a good man, and he's good to me. I care for him."

"I thought you cared for me," he said, a bit sadly.

"Oh Aegon," she rose to stand beside him. "I do care for you, honestly. But…..the life you offer me is so far removed from the life I want. I told you before that was the only thing making me hesitate."

He took her hand. "If I weren't King? Would you have me then?"

"But you _are_ the King, and there's no separating you from it. My decision wasn't just based on who you are as a person, but who you are as a King." She hoped the answer would satisfy him.

He kept her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles as his gaze returned to the window. "It's so different than what I imagined it to be," he said musingly. "Being the King. I thought people cheering and smiling, much like the first day we rode into the city. I never thought about empty treasuries and enemies and debts and crisis after crisis after crisis. Now we're hearing reports that my Uncle Oberyn's daughters, the Sand Snakes, they're called, have decided that I'm not fit to be King, and so they are supporting my Aunt Dany's bid for the throne. Despite the fact that she helped me to obtain it."

Sansa didn't know what to say. "What will you do?"

"Nothing, for now," he said, sipping his water again. "There's nothing to do. Just keep an ear on the situation, and be prepared. And of course, Euron Greyjoy is still proclaiming himself the King of the Iron Islands, and Stannis Baratheon is yet calling himself the rightful King of Westeros." He sighed again. "Crops and fields and animals were all destroyed in the war, winter is upon us, the people are hungry and cold, and all of this madness at the Wall. There's just so much work, and so little enjoyment." His eyes drifted to her again. "I had hoped…." He trailed off again.

"I'm sorry it couldn't be the way you wanted," she said sincerely.

He turned to fully face her, and the look on his face made her blush and drop her eyes. "Oh Sansa," he said sadly. "Of all the things I wanted as King, you were the best and brightest of rewards. And instead you've forsaken me for a man who while unarguably intelligent, is not whom I ever thought to see you tied to."

"I don't mind being tied to him," she said softly, keeping her eyes on the carpet. But he gently lifted her chin.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, his beautiful amethyst eyes searching her face. "I would have you as my own, even now."

"I'm sure," she said, slightly breathless. His face was so near to hers, she could feel his breaths. How had she forgotten how handsome he was? How sweet and gentle he could be when he chose to?

"Somehow I don't think you are," Aegon whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers. She tried to draw away, but his fingers, firm on her chin, held her in place. The kiss was soft and brief. "Have you been with a man besides Tyrion?" he asked.

She shook her head mutely.

"I had hoped to be your first," he said wistfully, his fingers, now gently, stroking her skin. "I had hoped to be your only. I will never understand this, my queen. How I want you for my own," he sighed, then kissed her again, lightly, before stepping away. "Perhaps one day." He smiled, mindful of her stories of Jeoffrey and his insistence that he could have her whenever he wanted. "One day, if you change your mind. When you change your mind." Gently squeezing her hand, he left as quietly as he'd come, leaving Sansa relieved that he was gone and hating the fact that she'd enjoyed his kiss. Shouldn't it have felt repulsive to her? She was a married woman and genuinely fond of her husband. But it hadn't. It had felt warm and sweet and gentle, and she raised a hand to her lips, wondering that she was shaking slightly. Sighing, she moved to look out over the city herself, knowing sleep wouldn't come easily.

She didn't see him for a few weeks, as she and the Queen stayed busy. But she acted as hostess for a small dinner party he held, and before the guests arrived he clasped a beautiful sapphire and diamond necklace around her throat. "It was designed for a Queen," he said, resting his hands on her shoulders as they looked into the mirror together. "It suits you." His hands slid down her arms, and a look of irritation flashed across his face as Alinor spoke.

"Oh it's lovely, my lady! We'll have to change your earrings to something that match," she said, hunting through the box of jewels that Tyrion had bought her. "Perhaps these?" she held up a pair of small diamond dangles.

"I'll leave you ladies to it," the King smiled. "I'll see you momentarily, my lady." He raised Sansa's hand and kissed the back tenderly before leaving.

Sansa stared after him. "That's going to get out of control fairly soon, I'd wager," Alinor said softly.

Sansa nodded. She hoped Tyrion would hurry back, she felt safer somehow knowing that he was in the Keep. But she knew that it would take a little over a week to get to Casterly Rock at the least, and he'd only been gone for three. It would be weeks before he returned.

Her earrings changed, she put on a smile and went to the King's rooms for dinner. She and Dany spent much of the evening chatting with the other ladies, while the men sat with the King and his Hand – who didn't remove his gloves, even for dinner, she noticed – discussing more political matters. She noticed Dany's gaze drift to their group on more than one occasion, and knew that she was far more interested in that discussion. But she said nothing, smiling and discussing the weather and the state of the city.

He managed to drop in on her unannounced several more times while Tyrion was away, and often sent her gifts of winter flowers and candied fruits and beautiful jewels that he requested she wear when she acted as his hostess, which she did regularly. "She looks lovely draped in jewels, don't you agree?" he grinned to Lord Tyrell one evening, holding Sansa's hand lightly.

"Yes, she does," Dany said, coming up beside Sansa and wrapping an arm around her waist. "It's fortunate that she has a husband who can afford to keep her well supplied." She looked pointedly at her nephew, while Lord Tyrell smothered a grin. After that, Dany made sure to stay near Sansa's side whenever they entertained with the King, to his annoyance. Sansa was grateful. She didn't want to anger the King but she had no intention of becoming his bride. She was fine to remain Lady Lannister.

As the work continued in the city, she relied more and more on Dany's assistance, as she told the King and his small council when she reported to them five weeks after they'd started their work. "Her help has been invaluable. She's very involved," Sansa said with a smile. "She looks forward to going into the city. Several of the bakers have learned her favorite treats and have them ready for her whenever we arrive. One of the seamstresses we've been working with made her a gown as a gift. The people love her, they all smile and wave and call out to her as we pass. And although she and I have not spoken specifically of her request to you, I am certain that at this point, she's far too invested in the city and its residents to destroy them."

The King nodded slowly. "I'm very pleased with your progress," he said. "Both with the Queen and with the residents. I'm told the people love you both, and me by proxy. I don't take your work lightly Sansa," he said seriously. "Because of you, this is something I no longer have to concern myself with. And I am told by my steward that the Keep has not run this efficiently in years. Thank you."

Sansa blushed. "You're very welcome, Your Majesty, and please know that I am always available to assist you in any way that I can. As you've said, the start of a new friendship between House Targarey and House Stark."

He smiled, a bit sadly. But he did look her in the eye, and not with anger. "Yes," he said. "We are friends."

As she left the King, Lord Varys met her in the hall. She noticed Ser Lothor stepped a bit closer to her. She knew he didn't trust the man. She wasn't sure herself if he were trustworthy, but she was also rather certain he wouldn't outright harm her, especially with two heavily armed guards and she and Alinor both wearing their swords. "Lord Varys," she said politely. "I hope all is well."

"I hope so as well, my lady," he said demurely, smiling. "It does all seem to be, but appearances can be so deceiving, don't you agree?"

"True," she said. She continued on, intending to pass him, but he fell in step beside her.

"I have been assisting your husband and Lord Connington with the…..disposal…..of Qyburn's laboratory." For a moment, his carefully constructed mask slipped and he looked both determined and disgusted. But his features quickly rearranged themselves into his usual pleasant visage. "While searching through some of the adjoining rooms, I discovered a few crates of things that belong to you and Lord Tyrion, the things from your rooms before the unfortunate events of a few years ago. If you'd like, I'll have them sent to your rooms?"

"Yes, thank you," she said with a smile. "I would like that."

He smiled in return, inclining his head. "Of course, my lady." He made to walk away but Sansa stopped him.

"Tell me, Lord Varys, are there many things stored down in those basement rooms?" she asked curiously. "I wasn't aware there were additional storage room down there."

"Oh yes, my lady. Most of those underground rooms are full, but have been locked for many years, and completely forgotten about."

Sansa sighed. "I'll have to get down there and catalog them," she said. "Alinor, make a note of that, please."

Varys looked shocked, then pained. "My lady, if you were to go into any of those rooms, I am certain Lord Tyrion would have me tortured and executed," he said in a strangled voice. "Please, my lady, allow me. If I find anything of value, I will inform you, I assure you. But it's probably best that you don't go down there. Please."

Sansa was shocked at his impassioned response. "Ah, well of course," she said slowly.

"Thank you, my lady. All king's have secrets. And many of them are hidden in the basement." He smiled again, and excused himself hurriedly in a cloud of lavender scent.

Sansa returned on to her rooms, where she had invited several ladies to join her for lunch. She enjoyed their company, especially when Dany joined them. After the ladies left, she and Dany sat chatting about the housing that was being built, and how to best care for the city's residents. "I'd love to see a school opened," Dany said.

"I've thought about that too," Sansa said. "I'd been hoping it would be something we could ask the Faith to handle, but the High Sparrow is so rigid. I don't know that I'd trust him with children." She frowned as she thought of the man. "He's almost fanatical."

"Perhaps the King should take that responsibility for now," Dany agreed.

Sansa smiled wryly. "There is no money in the treasury for education, I'm certain."

Dany frowned. "All I hear is that there 'no money' for things," she said. "What is the money for, if not the good of the people?"

Sansa stared at her, not sure of how much to say. "I don't think there is any money in the treasury at all, Your Majesty," she said slowly. At Dany's surprised stare, she continued. "King Robert drained the coffers long before the war. And Cercei borrowed heavily from her father, it's one of the reasons Tyrion had to go to Casterly Rock. Even the renowned wealth of the Lannister's have felt the effects of this war. As it is, Tyrion is actually funding all of the work we are doing."

Dany pressed her lips together in annoyance. "Yet another impoverished crown," she said bitterly. "Somehow, I'd hoped here would be different."

"Tyrion says it's easier to take a crown than to keep it," Sansa said. "I'm told that being a ruler is more difficult that most imagine, and the financial burden of running a kingdom – or seven, in this case – is extraordinary."

"Viserys always dreamed of our triumphant return to home, to King's Landing," Dany said softly. "The people throwing roses at our feet, cheering the return of the rightful heir. In my mind they were always well cared for, well fed, and happy. And yet, I find that to be untrue wherever I go."

"Ruling is a hard business," Sansa said quietly.

Dany smiled. "Yes, Tyrion has said that to me as well. It's just…somehow, I thought coming home would be different. My dreams surely never included an empty treasury."

"What," Dany said curiously, as Sansa looked at her quietly.

Sansa hesitated, but she knew this was her chance. "Was it really _your_ dream? Is this really _your_ home?" she asked quietly. "Whenever we talk about your life growing up, you always say that it was your brother's dream to return to Westeros and assume the throne. It was your brother's dream to right the wrongs done to House Targaryen. And now you've done that, you've restored the rightful heir to the throne. But is this really your home? Just a few days ago you said that while you miss the grassy plains of the Dothraki, Meereen is home now."

Dany's eyes had a stubborn glare. "Tell me, Lady Lannister," she said icily. "If your brother had not miraculously returned from the dead, you would still be Lady of Winterfell, would you not?"

Sansa nodded. "Yes."

"And your firstborn son would inherit that title from you, even as he also inherited the title Lord of Casterly Rock, would he not?"

Sansa nodded again. "Yes, that is correct."

"Should he lose one of those titles simply because he has the other?" she asked, rising from her seat to pace restlessly. "Why should your child have to give up his mother's title in order to keep his fathers? Why should he have to give up his father's title in order to keep his mothers? Why should my child have to give up it's right to rule in Westeros, simply because I rule across the sea?" she said angrily.

"Because you have no right to the Iron Throne," Sansa said firmly, rising to face the stunned queen. "Your name alone does not make you ruler here. We have a King, a King that you helped to crown. If you wanted this throne, you shouldn't have put your nephew on it."

Across the room, Dany's handmaiden stared at Sansa in shock. She knew that Alinor's face probably wore the same expression, but it was too late to turn back now. "What mother doesn't want to give her child the best?" she asked, softening her tone. "What mother doesn't want to create a wonderfully rich and rewarding life for her children? I know mine did, and I've heard no reason the think yours didn't. But we cannot take what does not belong to us and expect our children to live in peace. Our children will bear the repercussions of our decisions, good or bad."

Dany stared and her, obviously furious. "And what repercussions will your children bear, Lady Lannister?"

"My children may be born with their father's deformity," Sansa said steadily. "That is a choice I made, and I chance I take. I could have made them Lords of the Vale. Or even princes and king. I've chosen instead to give them two parents who not only will love them, but each other. Parents who will give them a life of comfort and ease, who will guide them and nurture them, and prepare them to face life's challenges head on. That is my decision, and my children will bear the repercussions of it. What repercussions will your children bear, Your Majesty? Will your decisions force your child to live it's life fleeing an assassin? Will your decisions force your child across the ocean to a land that does not respect it's tenuous claim on it's throne? Dany, just think about it," she said earnestly, taking a step towards the Queen. "I know you want your children to have their birthright, I understand that. It's why part of my agreement with the King was that in return for my men, my son would inherit Winterfell through me. Technically, I could still enforce that. The King agreed in open court, so I could easily override my brother's claim. But at what cost?"

Dany stared at her in mute fury, then silently turned to leave, her handmaiden trailing behind her. Sansa sighed deeply and dropped in a chair, hoping she'd hadn't done more damage than good. They had been getting along very well, and encouraged by their success in the city, had become good friends. Sansa knew she had tested that friendship today. She sat staring moodily into the fire for a long while, then decided that she would go and visit Margeary. She hadn't seen her in a few days, although she knew that Margeary hadn't been alone all of that time – her family had arrived from HighGarden on a few days ago. All except her grandmother, who had died at HighGarden, before it was taken. Lady Olenna had passed away peacefully in her sleep, or so her twin guards had told them.

But before she could leave, Ser Lothor stepped inside her door. "My lady, the crates Lord Varys mentioned have arrived."

"Oh," Sansa said. She'd already forgotten that conversation. "Alright, have them brought in. Alinor, send for someone to put them away."

Five burly men came in, two shouldering a long, heavy looking box, the other three each carrying a sturdy looking crate. "Oh my," Sansa said, shocked. "Are you sure this is all ours?"

"Lord Varys said bring all 'o this to Lady Lannister," one of them said, as they set the crates down.

"Do you have something to open them with?" she asked. They were all nailed shut.

One of the men nodded, and pulled an iron bar from his back pocket. On one end it was flat, hammered thin. Using that end, he pried the lid off of the first crate and Sansa looked into it. And saw her doll. She smiled as she pulled it out, hugging to her chest. "I can't even fit these clothes anymore," she said regretfully, as she looked through the crate's contents. She pulled out a few things and had them taken to her room, and told Alinor to have the rest taken to the castle seamstresses, to be used as extra fabric, or remade for someone who could fit them.

The second crate was full of Tyrion's things. "Well, unlike me, Tyrion hasn't grown at all in the last few years, so he can fit all of these. Have them taken to our room," she told Alinor lightly, ignoring the smothered chuckle of one of the workmen, although she saw Ser Lothor glare at him from the corner of her eye. The third chest was also Tyrion's, filled with books and papers. "Have this one taken to the small solar he's been using as an office," she said. "Don't unpack it, leave that for him to do. He'll know where he wants all of those things to go."

The workman pried open the top of the last crate, the long one that had taken two men to carry. Sansa stared at the contents in confusion for a moment. Just as she was about to say that none of those things were hers or Tyrion's, a piece of dark blue fabric niggled a memory in the back of her mind. Reaching for it, she pulled the heavy cloak free. It was a deep midnight blue, with thick, heavy brown fur lining. Her eyes filled with tears.

"My lady, whose things are these?" Alinor asked gently.

"Her father's," Lord Varys said, coming into the room. "I thought you would appreciate having them, my lady."

"I do," she said, her voice breaking a bit. "Thank you. Thank you so very much."

"You are most welcome, my lady," he said, preening. "I've also brought you something else. I unfortunately cannot return your family's sword, Ice. Lord Tywin felt it was too much Valyrian steel for one blade," he said with a small frown. "He had it melted down, and two sword created from it."

Sansa felt her stomach drop. Ice had belonged to the Starks for generations. By rights, it should have been returned to Winterfell with her father's body.

"One of them was given to Ser – er, Lord Jamie. I believe Lady Brienne carries it now. The other," he raised his hand and extended a long package towards her, wrapped in heavy cloth, "was given to King Jeoffery as a gift. As you are the only Lannister currently in the Keep, and a Stark as well, I felt it should be returned to you."

Sansa stared at that wrapped package with a sense of foreboding. It couldn't be. _Lord Tywin had it melted down…..and Lord Tywin gave Jeoffery a sword of Valyrian steel as a wedding present._ Hesitantly, she reached for it, her father's heavy cloak still hanging on her arm. She pulled the scabbard out of the cloth, her stomach turning. Cherrywood, gold, and oiled red leather, studded with golden lions' heads. The lions had ruby eyes. "Widow's Wail," she whispered distastefully.

"I would encourage you to rename it, my lady," Lord Varys said quickly. "And personally, I would also recommend a new scabbard. I know that you're a Lannister, but that is a bit ostentatious, don't you think? But the scabbard is only the covering," he said, gently taking it from her hand and turning it so that the hilt of the sword was facing her. Obediently, she pulled the sword out. The metal gleamed red and black in the light.

Ser Tomas let out a low whistle of appreciation. "That is beautiful," he said.

"How does it feel?" Ser Lothor asked, admiringly.

Sansa was surprised to realize that it felt light and well balanced in her hand. She lifted it, and ensuring no one was in her way, swung it experimentally a few times. "Very good," she said, impressed. "It's light, and very comfortable."

"I'm not surprised," Lord Varys said with a giggle. "Ice was created to be wielded by a Stark."

Sansa smiled at him as she returned the sword to it's scabbard and took it from him. "My thanks again, my lord," she said. "I do appreciate all of this, more than I can express."

He bowed slightly, still smiling. "Of course, my lady. Please know that if there is anything I can ever do for you, I am at your service." He left quietly.

She spent the next hour wrapped in her father's cloak, sitting on the floor in front of the large crate, going through his things. She sent his books and papers into Tyrion's solar. She planned to send most of his things down to the seamstress along with her outgrown dresses, until Alinor whispered that Ser Mathiew needed clothes, as he'd sent almost all of the pay she'd given him to his family in the Riverlands. She kept her father's dagger and a few other things, then had the rest sat in Tyrion's solar, to see if there was anything he would want to keep.

She spent the rest of the evening sewing, then woke the next morning to break her fast alone. She and the queen had planned to go into the city today, to check on the shelters that were being built, to shop, and generally gauge the mood of the people. They paid many bakers and pubs in the city to feed the homeless, and offered stipends to those who would allow them a place to sleep. Seamstresses had been hired to make warm clothing for those who needed it, and one day a week she'd persuaded the Keep's Maester to see some of those who were ill. It wasn't enough to solve the entire problem but it made an impression on the people, that the king was aware of their plight and was trying to do something about it. In addition, they shopped a bit, buying candies and pastries, ordering gowns and shoes, buying ribbons and fragrances and oils and scented candles. Alinor was now well dressed, thanks to their regular shopping trips – Tyrion had ordered the Keep's seasmstresses to make her an entire wardrobe, so she didn't need anything, and Dany didn't want to accumulate things she wouldn't need in Mereen – and she'd hoped to pick up a few things for her guards today, after her conversation with Alinor last night.

She stood in front of her window, wondering if she should send a note asking if the Queen wanted to go, when there was a knock on her door and the Queen swept in, already wrapped in her heavy fur cloak. "Are we not going into the city today?" she asked haughtily, when she saw that Sansa was not ready.

"I wasn't certain you'd want to after what I said yesterday," she answered quietly.

Dany raised an eyebrow imperiously. "The needs of the people outweigh my own personal feelings," she said coolly. "Were you a queen, you would know that."

Sansa nodded. In a few minutes, they were on their way, riding out through the cold air. "Have you heard from Tyrion?" Dany asked politely.

"Yes," Sansa said, smiling. "He sent a note that he's completed his business at Casterly Rock and is on his way back. I expect his return any day now."

Dany nodded. "Tyrion has a shrewd mind. It will be good to have him back."

They spent a very pleasant morning, although neither of them mentioned their conversation from the previous day. The shelters were progressing well, and would be ready for inhabitants soon. "It isn't fancy, but it will keep them from out of the elements," the foreman told them. They strolled arm in arm through a few shops, as if nothing were amiss, giggling over new gowns and _ooohhhh_ -ing appreciatively over the jewelers new pieces. They stopped in a small dining room and had melted chocolate and cakes, chatting with most everyone who came in.

Finally, they returned to the palace. "You know tongues will be wagging," Dany said casually to Sansa.

"How so?" Sansa asked as she gathered some of her packages.

"You bought men's clothing today. And it was not sized for your husband." Dany grinned.

"Well, hopefully the wagging tongues will get it right," Sansa laughed. "I bought clothing for several men that are not my husband."

Alinor snorted delicately. "When have the wagging tongues every gotten it right?"

"I think never," Missandei grinned.

They went to their separate rooms, agreeing to meet in Margeary's room in an hour. But when she arrived, she found Dany and Missandei standing before an open door. "She is not here," Dany said. "Neither are her guards, or her things. She's gone."

Sansa stared at the empty room in confusion. She'd heard nothing of Margeary being moved. When asked, her father shook his head in frustration. "I don't know," he said. "I was only told that she hasn't been harmed, and that she's on an errand for the King." They tried to find Lord Connington or the King but were told that both were busy.

They hosted a small dinner that evening, only six couples, Dany and Sansa. She had hoped that Tyrion would have returned in time for it, but he hadn't yet. They spent the majority of the evening discussion the work they were doing in the city, and a few of the ladies offered to assist them, to Sansa and Dany's delight. All in all it went splendidly, and they ended the evening smiling good night to each other, still not speaking of what Sansa had said.

She tossed and turned restlessly that night. She was tired of sleeping alone, and wondered how much longer Tyrion would be gone. She'd become used to his small form pressed against her at night, his hand resting on her hip or side, his face inevitably buried against her breasts. She woke suddenly to a loud sound, like a roar. It took her a moment to remember it. Rising, she went to her window and opened the shutters. Sure enough, one of the queen's dragons flew through the clear night sky, not far outside the city. It's roar echoed in the silence of the night as it flew across the full moon. Sansa closed the shutters, shivering in the coolness of the darkened room. She thought of stoking the smoldering fire, but instead buried herself beneath the thick blankets of her bed.

She wondered where Margeary was. What errand had the King sent her on? Her mother was frantic. She'd been sent with guards and one of the septa's. The King hadn't mentioned anything to her about it, and he usually asked her opinion on things pertaining to Margeary. They hadn't talked much recently, though. She'd been glad of that, hoping that he was adjusting to she and Tyrion's marriage while she and the Queen spread gold dragons and goodwill across the city. But she also knew that King's Landing was not the only place in Westeros suffering. Had he begun to address the outlying areas, she wondered? Usually the Warden's would be in charge of rebuilding those areas, but the South had no Warden, Tyrion was here and…..technically, she was the Warden of the North, and the East. What was being done? Perhaps she'd try to speak with Lord Umber and young Lord Manderly tomorrow, if not Lord Connington. Or perhaps she'd wait for Tyrion to return, and let him take care of it.

It was tempting to allow her life to fall into his hands, and simply follow his bidding. Easy. And she certainly trusted him to do the best thing, no matter what the situation. For all the events of the last few years had shown her that she wanted to be a lady and nothing more, she still wanted to make her own choices. She knew instinctively that Tyrion would support her in that, even if it was the wrong choice. He'd let her try. And for all that she didn't want to be queen – or even Warden, if she were honest with herself – she also didn't want to be kept in the dark, she realized. The North and the East were her responsibility.

She tossed and turned restlessly for hours. As the dawn broke the door slowly opened. She sat up, thinking it early for Alinor, and then grinned. "You're back," she said happily, throwing back the blankets.

"Why are you awake at this hour?" Tyrion smiled as she came to hug him. "It's cold, get back into bed. I'll join you momentarily, just let me wash some of this travel dust off of me."

"Alright," she said happily, climbing back into bed and watching as he removed his boots and began pulling off his clothes. She heard the small splash of the water in the pitcher from behind the bathing screen.

"Sansa, stir up the fire, please? It's not quite as cold as outside but damn close. My teeth are chattering."

Smiling she rose to do as he asked, and by the time he came to bed, his hair still damp, the fire was burning brightly, casting a lovely glow over the bed.

"There now, I'm not quite so filthy. Come and greet me properly," he grinned as he crawled into the bed. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "Now that's the kind of greeting a man wants when he returns home," he murmured, when she'd pulled away. He pushed her down onto her back, pulling the blankets over them and grinning when she squealed as he pressed his cold body to hers. "Now love, it's your job as my wife to warm me," he teased.

"Is it?" she smiled coyly. "Well, never let it be said that Lady Lannister is slack in her duties, my lord."

They slept late, and when they finally rose it was almost time for lunch. "Tyrion," she said slowly as they sat to eat. "Has the King made any mention of rebuilding anywhere outside of King's Landing?"

He shook his head. "No, but Lord Connington and I have," he said around a mouthful of food. "In the West and the North. Prince Doran will handle the cleanup in the South, and the East was mostly unaffected. Mostly," he sighed. "The Vale itself was unaffected, but some of the lower lands did see some damage. I've spoken with a few of the lords of the East, we'll get it sorted out."

She nodded. "And are we alright?" she asked hesitantly. "Financially? As Lannisters," she sighed. "I'm certain Winterfell is bankrupt."

"Yes. Better off than I thought, although the Second Sons and the Iron Bank definitely made a dent," he winced slightly. "However, we are far removed from destitution," he said lightly. "Thankfully we were insanely rich to begin with, so we can afford to keep up our efforts here in the city, and I'll send some seed money back with your Northern lords to start the cleaning up and get the rebuilding efforts started. Once we get the Bolton's out," he said grimly. "Lords Umber and Manderly have agreed to lead the Northern forces to retake Winterfell. Hopefully, they'll be gone before the army arrives, I know word has already been sent to them. And speaking of Winterfell, do you have anyone in particular you'd like to become steward and overseer there? Anyone your father may have thought highly of?"

Sansa thought for a moment, then shook her head with a small sigh. "No. Can you send someone?"

He nodded. "Young Lord Manderly has recommended someone from his own household, and I'm inclined to allow it, if you've no objections."

"That's fine." She wished she could go. She didn't know why she felt so strongly about it, but she wanted to wait until Tyrion could go with her.

"How are things going with Dany?" he asked.

Sansa shrugged. "Well," she said. "She's very involved in the work in the city. But she's beginning to mention going home more and more."

"Have you discussed her request of the King?"

Sansa nodded. "Once. Briefly. It didn't go well," she admitted.

"Dany is reasonable," Tyrion assured her. "I'm sure that you've made much more headway than you think. Just the fact that you were bold enough to mention it would impress her."

"I hope so."

"I'll try to speak to her today, if I can, and see what she's thinking. She can be hard to pin down sometimes." Sansa nodded. Although the Queen hadn't spoken of it, she still worried that she had irreparably damaged the King's cause.

"Varys found our things from before," she said, happy to change the subject. "I had your books and papers put in the room you're using as an office. He also found a box of my fathers things. I had his books and papers given to you as well. I thought you'd know what was important, and what to do with it all."

Tyrion nodded. "I'll take care of it."

They parted ways after eating, Tyrion to see if he could find Dany before the King requested his presence, and Sansa to see the castle Castillion, each with the Queen's request of the King heavy on their minds. It had been months since King Aegon had been raised, and to Tyrion the fact that she hadn't become insistent about the child – especially in light of Sansa's comments that she was thinking of going home – meant that she was willing to give up the matter. Hopefully, she would.


	8. Chapter 8

Margeary stared out at the sun drenched city before her. She'd never thought she'd seen Meereen herself, but here she was. Behind her, Septa Lissut and her guards watched silently, along with the slightly built and silent eunuch who had been sent as her attendant.

Not for the first time, Margeary wished her grandmother could have been sent with her. But grandmother was gone. The thought sent a pang of pain through her breast, and she unconsciously frowned, pushing back her tears. Her grandmother would be the first one to tell her to swallow those tears and get to work. The King had given her a task, and her success would not only save her life but possibly get the Tyrell family back in his good graces. Failure was not an option.

"Well, it will be good to have solid ground beneath our feet again," she said, smiling. "Let's get going, shall we?" She would be glad to get off the ship, it had been a long and tedious journey, filled with thick clouds, cold winds and icy rain, although thankfully they hadn't encountered any severe storms.

Finding a place to stay was more difficult than she'd been led to believe, but by nightfall they were ensconced in a small house. The language wasn't all she was expecting either, as she'd assumed they'd speak High Valyrian, but it wasn't true High Valyrian, it was a mix of that with another language that she wasn't familiar with.

"What is this?" she asked, frowning her nose at the platter the servant girl placed on the table. She was grateful the house had come with servants, as she had none. Only the silent eunuch, dour Septa, and the guards.

The girl said something Margeary didn't understand. "I wouldn't question it," the Septa said suddenly. Sharply. "Let's be grateful we have a hot meal and get some rest." Margeary wasn't sure she agreed but remained silent, allowing the girl to serve her some type of candied fruits that looked appealing, and steamed roots of some kind, along with some type of mashed something, and the dark meat. They all picked at the food. Margeary finished the fruits, and the vegetables weren't too bad, along with the mashed mess that tasted almost like stringy potatoes. But the smell of the meat was revolting and she didn't eat any of it, although she noticed the guards did. The Septa ate nothing but the vegetables.

Later, she sat beside the open window, hoping for a breeze. They weren't that far from the water, surely the air shouldn't be so sticky and hot. The scented sticks the girl had set fire to released a steady stream of smoke, tainting the sickly smell of the air with overly sweet flowers. The combination was nauseating. She'd hoped to rest for a few days before sending her message, but having arrived she wanted to get this over with. The sooner she started, the sooner she could go home. She pulled out a scroll and pen and carefully composed her message, sealing it with the wax from the candle and pressing her recently returned signet ring into it firmly, then gave it to the boy and told him to have it delivered in the morning. Hopefully, she'd get a quick response.

The next morning Septa Lussut wouldn't allow her to leave her room, much less the house. "And how am I supposed to achieve the King's objective sitting in this room?" Margeary asked her icily. "I was sent here with a purpose and it cannot be accomplished from here. I must leave." But the Septa was insistent, and the guards obeyed. They finally reached a compromise, and the guards went out into the city with orders to listen to the local gossip and report every word of it back to her, or as much as they understood. She was allowed out of her room for dinner, and saw that all of the guards had returned. No one spoke as they ate. Afterwards, Margeary moved towards the sitting room, expecting to take the guards report, but the Septa waved her back to her room.

"I need to hear the report," Margeary said firmly.

"They've given it to me," the Septa said. "I'll give it to you. In your room."

"Do you even know why I was sent here?" Margeary asked wonderingly. The woman couldn't possibly believe that Margeary could do as the King had requested under these constraints.

"Go to your room, Lady Margeary," the Septa said firmly.

Margeary looked to the broad shouldered Captain of her guard. Lord Connington had called him keen and reliable, and said that she could trust he and his men to assist her in her task. They'd been assembled specifically because they, like her, had been taught High Valyrian. "Captain," she began.

"To your room," the Septa repeated, louder.

"Do _you_ know why I'm here?" she continued. He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting between she and the Septa.

"Guards, escort Lady Margeary to her room," the Septa commanded. But Captain Swyft only raised a hand to stop them.

"I'll hear the girl out," he said.

"What is there to hear?" Margeary demanded. "Do any of you really believe that if we return to King's Landing with this task unaccomplished that my head will be the _only_ one the King asks for? I cannot believe that you and your men haven't been promised handsome compensation for this venture of ours. Are you willing to risk it over her?" she jerked her head towards the fuming Septa. "Or is it your plan that we stay here forever?"

The Septa took a step towards the Captain. " _I_ am in charge here," she said firmly. " _I_ am responsible for her. You follow _my_ orders. _Not hers._ She is a prisoner of the Faith, and is to be treated as such."

"And will you and the Faith take the responsibility if I fail because you refused to allow me to accomplish my goal?" Margeary snapped. "I have not come all of this way with my head intact to lose it to your foolish sense of superiority!"

Steffon Swyft stood silently, considering the scene before him. Although there wasn't much to consider. Lord Connington and Lord Lannister – his current liege – had indeed promised him handsome rewards if he assisted Lady Margeary. Lands, and a title. Wealth. The Stormlands needed a new liege, and the Southerlands needed a new Warden. He wasn't so foolish to believe he'd be granted either one, but the opportunities were there, wide and obvious, for those who supported the new King. Not for the first time he was grateful that his father had the good sense to never mock or speak ill of Lord Tyrion, who now looked on House Swyft favorable. It was an honor he didn't take lightly, that Lord Tyrion had recommended him personally for this. And if this girl could actually manage what the King asked….

"We'll make our report in the sitting room, my lady," he said, gesturing Margeary to move ahead of him.

"Finally," Margeary sighed in relief. "Someone with sense." She smiled warmly to the Captain as she moved past him, and he gestured the guards to follow as he stayed, watching the angry Septa warily.

"Were you told why the girl was sent here?" he asked quietly. "I'm inclined to believe you were not."

"Of course I was!" she snapped.

"Then how do you expect her to accomplish her goal beneath your constraints?" he asked.

"She is a prisoner of the Faith," the Septa repeated, anger flushing her face. "And _I_ am responsible for her."

"She is a prisoner of the _throne_ ," Captain Swyft corrected her. "She was released by the Faith into the King's custody. You were sent here as chaperone, not jailer. You would do well to remember that, because the girl is correct. If she fails in this, her head is not the only one the King will be after. And while you may be comfortable with the thought of losing yours, I will not lose mine because you are misguided. From here on out, my men and I follow Lady Margeary's orders." Turning, he joined the others in the sitting room.

She did choose to stay inside after the guards told her that they weren't comfortable with her going out into the city, especially because of the violence that plagued Meereen after nightfall, violence that the current King and Hand of the Queen had yet to completely get under control. Margeary was intrigued to find out that Queen Danerys was married, no one had mentioned that back in King's Landing. So she stayed in, beneath the baleful eyes of Septa Lissut. It was two days before a messenger knocked on the door. Two days in the sickly smelling, stifling heat.

 _Lady Baratheon,_

 _I am delighted to find that you are visiting Meereen. I long to hear news of my Queen and my home, and would be delighted to have you join me for the midday meal tomorrow. I look forward to meeting you personally._

 _Barriston Selmy_

 _Hand of the Queen_

Interesting that he'd addressed her as Lady Baratheon, although she'd introduced herself as Lady Tyrell. He was letting her know that he knew who she was. How would that affect their conversation, she wondered.

The boy bathed her in cool, floral scented water, then styled her hair and helped her dress. She waved the pretty fan he'd brought her vigorously in front of her face to keep her skin free of sweat. The temperature was sweltering, and outside was only worse, and although the dress she wore would have been fine in King's Landing, here the material clung damply to her back and fell limply around her legs. Thankfully, the boy had puller her hair up so it didn't stick to her neck. She and Septa Lissut rode silently in the litter Ser Barriston had sent, followed by Captain Swyft and one of his men in another. One of the men recommended keeping the drapes closed, and Margeary hadn't objected when the Septa said firmly that they would. She would need to pick her battles with the woman, she'd realized. She couldn't get rid of her, she needed a female chaperone, as her guard were all male.

The air was cooler after they'd made the long climb up to the Great Pyramid, where Ser Barriston kept rooms in the Queen's residence, and smelled cleaner. She stood for a long moment as the others arrived, eyes closed, taking deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. _I can do this, it's just lunch with an old Kingsguard. I am more than capable of this._ But nerves still knotted her stomach. It was more than a lunch, much more. It was her life and her family and their future.

The tall knight rose when she entered. His steel gray hair and beard did nothing to distract from his precise bearing, and the keenness in his eyes. "Lady Baratheon," he said, inclining his head slightly. "Welcome to Meereen."

Margeary smiled warmly, extending both of her hands, leaving him no choice to but take them. "Ser Barriston the Bold," she laughed lightly. "You, Ser, are the legend of my childhood. It is an honor to meet you."

"Thank you," he said with a slight smile. "Won't you sit?" He pulled his hands gently from hers and indicated a sofa nearby.

"Of course," she said graciously. "These are lovely rooms." Everything was in shades of soft blue and cream with gold accents. It didn't suit him at all.

"Thank you. I take no credit for them," he smiled fully as one of the brown skinned girls silently appeared and poured them chilled wine.

Margeary laughed lightly. "Well, after being surrounded by white for so long, I would think you'd find it nice to have a little color."

He shrugged. "So, my lady, what news do you bring me from King's Landing?"

"King Aegon has successfully assumed the throne," Margeary said happily. "Although he was slightly dismayed to find his Kingsguard in ruins, and that the legendary Ser Barriston Selmy was no longer his Lord Commander."

Ser Barriston nodded, his expression serious. "The boy was well hidden," he said. "I'd heard whispers – we all had – but when I began to seriously search I found nothing. Prince Viserys and the Queen were easier to locate."

"Well, you did say in open court that you were going to find your true King," she smiled lightly. "And I know he'd love to have you back." She changed the subject then, telling him the fate of Jamie Lannister and Tyrion, and what she'd heard of the Stark children, and others that they knew. They lunched on the balcony, and Margeary managed to enjoy herself as they discussed the work the Queen and Sansa were doing in King's Landing, and how the King was doing. And she also managed to find out more information about Meereen, and the King Hazdhar, and the state of the city. And she was thrilled when he insisted that she and her party take rooms in the pyramid, stating that her current location wasn't in a safe area.

"How long do you plan to stay in Meereen?" he asked as she prepared to leave.

Margeary allowed her expression to become uncertain. "I haven't decided," she forced herself to smile. "Honestly, while the King has graciously allowed me to keep my head, my family has been stripped of their titles and lands, and he has suggested that perhaps I should travel a bit. I'm not exiled," she said hurriedly. "But he thought it would be best for me to be gone for a while, to allow things in King's Landing to settle some. And," she shrugged lightly, "I've always wanted to see the free cities."

Ser Barriston nodded gravely. "The ways of war," he sighed.

"I do hope that I'll see you again, Ser Barriston," she smiled fully.

"I hope so as well, my lady," he said politely.

It was a relief to settle into her beautiful rooms in the Great Pyramid, with its elegant furnishings and cooler temperatures. And the bathing room was exquisite. She often enjoyed breaking her morning fast on the terrace with her Captain and guards – the Septa apparently felt no need to chaperone her from her guards and usually broke her fast alone in her bedroom – all of whom were friendly, and who still went out daily to listen to the people in the markets and streets. From them she learned that King Hizdhar had been imprisoned when the Queen had been carried away on one of her dragons, and that Ser Barriston had ensured the man wasn't harmed, but he was suspected of attempting to poison the Queen, and of coordinating the nightly murders that were committed in the name of the Harpy. When the Queen had returned – still slightly feverish and recovering from an illness – she'd had her King freed, saying that if he'd wanted her dead she would be. Besides, she needed her marriage to help keep the support of the nobles, especially as she'd been besieged by the Yunkai'i army, which hadn't been easy to defeat even with dragons.

"And within days of the defeat, she and her dragons headed west, to the Seven Kingdoms," Captain Swyft said thoughtfully. "The people are uniformly relieved the dragons are gone, but many are hoping to see the last of her, as well."

"King Hizdhar has more and more support here," one of the guards, Ser Rowan said. "Ser Barriston is struggling to keep it all under control. He's a skilled knight, and he's been in service to the throne for many years. But all of this is beyond him."

Margeary nodded thoughtfully. She needed to meet the King, and said so. "Surely we can find a reason," she said. "It would be helpful if I'd known she had a King, and could say that she sent a message for him."

"I never heard it mentioned," Captain Swyft admitted.

"I didn't either, and I've spoken to her personally on several occasions," Margeary said. "And I'm almost certain the King doesn't know."

"Actually, he probably does," the Captain said. "Lord Lannister was here with her, so surely he knew, and he would have told the King."

Margeary grudgingly realized it was true. "Well it would have been nice if I'd been told," she sighed. "Now I have to try to maneuver a way to meet him."

The morning brought a letter for her from Lord Connington. Inside was a rough list of events, and an envelope addressed to Ser Barriston Selmy. She studied the list extensively, considering their consequences, and then invited Ser Barriston to share a midday meal with her a few days later. She known when she arrived that the old knight would be a tough man to sway. He was intensely loyal, and had pledged himself to Queen Danerys. Convincing him to return to King's Landing and resume his duties as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard wouldn't be easy, but she'd give it her best.


	9. Chapter 9

Jon Connington strode into Tyrion's solar without knocking, dropping a thick letter on his desk. "This arrived this morning, from the Citadel," he announced, pacing to the window. "This seems to be getting out of hand."

Tyrion reached for the packet, scanning the pages. "Well," he said on a sigh. "We've already heard that the white walkers have returned, so this isn't news to us. But I'd prefer, as I'm sure you do, that this not get out and create a panic."

"My boy will have no idea of how to deal with this," he said, his voice hard and low.

"None of us do," Tyrion said absently. His eyes continued to scan the sheets as Lord Connington brooded by the window. "It's been centuries since the white walkers were seen. Most count them a myth."

"He'll need you," Lord Connington said. "He'll have to lean on you heavily."

Tyrion's eyes flickered to the doorway, ensuring he didn't see anyone before resting on his visitor. "He'll need both of us," he said softly. "Surely now you can delay your departure?"

"No," was the abrupt reply. "I should have already gone." Although the thought of leaving Aegon pained him, just this morning he'd realized that the grayscale was almost to his wrist. Only his thumb was unaffected, and it was only a matter of time. And somehow, most likely in bathing, it had spread to his toe. He was beginning to fear he'd infect one of the servants who cleaned his room, or the boy who tended his things.

"My lord," Tyrion sighed.

"It isn't a subject I will debate." Lord Connington turned from the window, his gaze direct. "You need to read up on these white walkers, and how they were defeated before. The Citadel said they're sending a few books, but it will be weeks before they arrive. I'm sure the Keep library will have something that references it, as well. I will leave this problem in your capable hands, my lord." He turned to leave.

"Have you told him yet?" Tyrion asked as he approached the door. "That you're leaving?"

Lord Connington stopped, then returned slowly. "No. I most likely will not. He will not take it well. I will leave him a note, most likely in your care. And again, this is not a subject I wish to debate," he said firmly when Tyrion began to speak. "I have my reasons, and I'll thank you to respect them." Turning again, he left the room swiftly.

Tyrion looked after him exasperatedly. "Damn," he sighed. Shoving the sheets back into their packet, he straightened his desk and slid from his chair. Apparently, he now had to figure out how to defeat white walkers, in addition to everything else he was doing.

Hours later, after a full day of research, and a brief conversation with Lord Connington and the King, he made his way towards the large suite of room Dany and her staff had been given. Messendei smiled when she saw him. "Hello, my lord."

"Hello dear, how are you? Are you enjoying King's Landing?" He smiled at the girl. She was polite, pretty, and much more intelligent than most believed.

She shrugged. "It is cold here," she said. "The Queen is on the terrace." She gestured towards the wide balcony.

Tyrion stared at the figure on the balcony for a long moment. "Thank you," he muttered, heading out to see her. It had been a long day, and his back and legs ached miserably. She would be standing in the freezing night air, and he without his cloak. The ache in his back and legs would be unbearable by the time he finally found his bed. But the thought of his bed brought the thought of Sansa. _Well, never let it be said that Lady Lannister is slack in her duties, my lord._ He couldn't stop the smile as he stepped out into the night air.

She was looking up to the sky where her white dragon circled the Keep. Tyrion paused beside her, his gaze also on the dragon. "How have they been managing?" he asked quietly. He was one of the few who knew about the little girl that had lost her life to Drogon's appetite.

She was silent as she watched the dragon until he angled north and flew away, his thick wings beating loudly in the stillness of the night. "The usual," she said softly. "Horses, cows, sheep."

He nodded thankfully. That was a problem they did not need.

"Have you come to talk me out of the child?" she asked sweetly, as she turned to go inside. Tyrion followed her gratefully into the warmth of the room, and Messendei hurriedly pulled the doors closed.

"I will attempt it, if it can be done," he said, climbing into a chair and allowing Messendei to press a cup of warmed, spiced wine into his hand.

"Your Sansa certainly had much to say about it." She didn't sound at all perturbed.

Tyrion studied her over the rim of his cup. "You know she's terrified that she's ruined your friendship."

Dany smiled softly. "I value your lady's wisdom and level headedness." She took a sip from her own cup. "She would make an excellent queen."

"Yes, she would," Tyrion agreed.

"Already, she manages the Keep and the King's social engagements, as well as her own. The people call her the Lady of the Keep."

"Do they?" he smiled. "Well, I suppose she is."

"And she is quite fond of you."

"That is pleasing, as I grow fonder of her daily," Tyrion's smile widened.

"I am glad," Dany said firmly. "I want you to be happy."

"Your Majesty, I am as happy as I've ever been," he assured her.

"Good. And I still want the child."

Damn. "Fortunately, I didn't come here to talk about that," he said.

"Then what bring you to my rooms at this late hour? The tongues will wag, my lord, that you've sought out the Queen's company at this time of night," she teased.

"The tongues will wag regardless," Tyrion chuckled. "But I'm here to ask for your help. Have you ever heard of the white walkers?"

Dany frowned slightly, shaking her head. "No?"

Sliding out of his chair, he brought over the book he'd been carrying, opening it to the bookmarked page. "Creatures of legend," he said. "From what I can gather, over eight thousand years ago, they appeared during the Long Night, which was an extended winter season. They attacked from the far North, the Land of Always Winter." He sat the book in her lap, and she looked at it, mildly curious. "Fearsome creatures. It is said they were made by magic, by the Children of the Forest, in order to protect them from the men who were beginning to invade. But at some point they lost control of them, and the white walkers became an entity unto themselves."

"I believe I heard Viserys speak of these creatures," she said slowly, remembering the taunts of her brother. "He called them The Others."

Tyrion nodded. "Yes, many do." He watched as she flipped a few pages, the looked up to him.

"What has this to do with me?"

"We've been told that they've appeared again," Tyrion said gravely. "In the North, up at the Wall."

"The magical ice wall that was built to hold them back?" She turned a few pages, her eyes resting on an oil portrait of the towering wall of ice.

"Yes," Tyrion said, reaching for his wine.

"How do you stop them?" she asked curiously.

"Dragonglass," Tyrion sighed. "Obsidian. I'm trying to gather as much as I can, but…" he sighed. "There isn't much left in the Seven Kingdoms. We've sent word to Dragonstone, I believe they have some of the last of it, but it was last owned by Renly Baratheon, so I have no idea of how loyal they are to the new King, even though it's been a Targaryn stronghold for generations."

Dany nodded. "I was born there," she said.

"I'm hoping the staff there still holds some loyalty to your family, and will jump at the opportunity to serve the new King," he said.

"So obsidian is the only way to kill these creatures?" She looked down at the book again.

"No, they can be killed other ways," Tyrion admitted. "But the problem is they are magical in nature. As soon as the sun sets, they rise again, along with everyone they killed in battle, who are now changed into the creatures themselves. It provides them an ever growing army."

Dany looked amused. "This sounds like a story concocted for children."

Tyrion's smiled was grim. "It's been used as such for thousands of years. But the reports we've received are fairly reliable."

"You still haven't told me what this has to do with me," she said.

"The only other way to stop them permanently is with fire."

Dany frowned, understanding, then set the book on the table and picked up her wine. "My nephew is hoping to distract me from the child." Her tone was disapproving.

"Your nephew knows nothing of this," Tyrion lied. "John Connington and I are trying to get an idea of how serious this is before we take it to him. The problem is that the reports we've received are reliable, although I admit the entire thing is fanciful. I just," he sighed, moving to pour himself more wine. "I just don't know what to believe," he said quietly, coming to stand beside her. "As you yourself have said, this sounds like a story made up to frighten disobedient children. But if this is true, the consequences would be deadly, and not just for the Seven Kingdoms. According to history, the last time the white walkers appeared, weather changed all over the world, even in Essos. The Rhoyne froze so thickly that people could walk on it. It might be a few years before that happens, but if this is real, it will affect you and your people as well."

Dany sat silently, studying the man beside her. She trusted him. He was one of the most intelligent men she'd ever met, and he wasn't the type to overreact. More and more she thought of going home, back to Meereen. But she'd heard nothing from her Hand since she'd been in King's Landing, surely he would have sent word if there were problems? "Fine," she sighed. "I'll go."

Five days later, Dany boarded a ship commissioned by the throne to take she, Messendei, and her guards to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. From there they'd travel to Castle Black, where she would meet with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon Snow. "He's my natural brother, my father's oldest son. He was born before my parents married," Sansa had told her. She'd sent him a small package and a letter, letting him know that she was well and proud of him for rising so quickly to the position of Lord Commander.

When he returned to the Keep, Tyrion met with the King and Lord Connington. "She's on her way," he said. "She'll be gone months, at the least."

The King sighed as he looked out of the window. "And you're sure this is working?"

"I am," Tyrion assured him, as Lord Connington nodded.

"The last letter from the Tyrell girl said that she's making headway," he said. "She's become close friends with the King, and has met all of the nobles, and mentioned to many that Queen Danerys considers herself to be home, and that she questions if she'll actually return. In addition, Barriston Selmy is said to be losing his grip on the city, although he does have the support of her army. But the people want her gone as well, from the talk she's heard. She's doing her best to sow dissention there, and urge Selmy to return to your service."

"It helps that she hasn't heard any word from him," Tyrion said. "Perhaps when she returns, we'll pass those letters on to her. By then things will hopefully have gotten so bad in Meereen that she'll leave immediately."

"Or perhaps she'll decide to stay here permanently," the King said, turning to look at them. It was a thought he'd discussed with them, that his aunt would decide to remain here and become his bride.

"I don't think so," Tyrion said. "As Sansa pointed out to her, the Iron Throne was Viscerys dream, not hers. Meereen is where she's earned her crown, and she wants to return there. Sansa has said that she's made many remarks about returning home. But going up to the Wall will buy us more time for Margeary to complete her work across the narrow sea, and if there really are white walkers, the dragons should take care of them."

"And while she's gone, I need to find a bride," the King sighed.

"Sansa is already working on that, Your Majesty," Tyrion assured him. "She should have a list ready for you to see within a few days."

"I don't need to see it, it's just words on a piece of paper," he said dismissively. "Just get them all here as quickly as possible." He wasn't thrilled with the idea of marrying, even as he understood the necessity of it, not only for heirs, but to dissuade his aunt's plan. But mostly because he still cared for Sansa and didn't want to give up the idea of her as his Queen. He occasionally wondered if he'd offered her the North's freedom if she would have chosen differently. But she'd made her choice and he was trying to accept it, although he still couldn't understand it. Why would she choose Tyrion over him? If it had been the knight from the Vale, he could see it, almost. But Tyrion?

Within days Sansa had sent the invitations all across the Seven Kingdoms. "In this weather," she said to Tyrion worriedly as she stood by the window in his solar one night, watching the snow fall. "I don't know if they'll arrive, or when. And traveling to King's Landing will be difficult, to say the least."

"And yet, I'm willing to wager that every family invited will manage to attend," he said absently, his eyes still on the book he was reading. "It's their chance to meet the King, swear fealty, and possibly have their daughter wed him. They'll come."

Sansa knew he was right. She had eight weeks to prepare not only the ball, but several smaller events and luncheons, and to begin planning the wedding, as well. They wanted it all wrapped up and done within twelve weeks, at most. She was nervous, but looking forward to it. And with her work in the city as well, especially now that the Queen was gone, she knew she'd be amazingly busy. Dropping a kiss on Tyrion's golden head, she went to find Alinor. She might as well get started.


	10. Chapter 10

Barriston sat on the bench near the wall, grateful for the shade of heavy stone. The lower courtyard was a bustle of activity, as usual, and most people didn't even notice him. He eyed the staircase across from him warily. Every day it seemed they were harder to come down, and harder still to go back up. He'd begun to avoid it, if he could. Which was no good, of course. The longer the time between passages, the harder they were. How much longer before his old bones refused to cooperate?

He turned when he was joined suddenly on the bench. "Lady Baratheon," he said politely.

"Fancy meeting you here," she smiled warmly. "How are you today, Ser Barriston?"

"Well, thank you, and you?"

"Fine," she smiled. "I just came from some shopping in the city. I was able to find a dress that I think is appropriate for tonight. Ser Barriston," she said, turning to face him slightly. "I do wish you'd join us this evening."

"I'm afraid I'm unable," he replied smoothly. "And as the nobles here are not as fond of me as they are the King, I'm sure my presence would make for a most uncomfortable meal." _As you well know._

Margeary sighed softly. "I'd hoped," she started, then stopped. "Well, perhaps we can share a meal soon?"

"That would be delightful, as always," he said. He'd do his best to avoid it. She was a pleasant girl and he enjoyed talking of home, but he increasingly had too much to do to spend time entertaining. Just as he began to rise, she spoke again.

"Do you ever miss the Seven Kingdoms?" she asked wistfully, looking around the courtyard. "Things are so different here."

"Occasionally," he admitted. "But my work keeps me so occupied that I have little time for frivolous thoughts." He made to rise again.

"I sent a letter asking if I could return," she confided with a sad smile.

He studied her for a moment. "I'm sure it's much too soon," he said gently.

"I know," she said sadly. "But, I miss my parents and my brothers. I miss Highgarden."

"I do know the feeling," he sighed. They sat in silence for a long moment, before she forced a smile and rose.

"Well, I won't keep you," she said. "I suppose I should get ready for my guests. Have a pleasant afternoon, Ser."

"And you, my lady." He watched as she walked away, followed by five guards and the unsmiling septa. She was a curious girl, he thought. Not as innocent as she seemed, yet so …..sad. Of course, she'd buried three husbands before she'd reached ten and seven, that would make anyone sad. She'd thought she would be Queen but instead she was here, grateful to be alive. He hoped that she would move on soon, perhaps go to Pentos or Lys. Anywhere but Meereen.

Finally, he pushed himself to his feet, his eyes still on Lady Baratheon's retreating figure. As he took the first steps across the courtyard, Grey Worm fell in beside him.

"That one," he said, gesturing to Lady Baratheon's back. "She is not what she seems."

"Oh? How so?"

"She speaks like flowers," Grey Worm said solemnly. "Her words are beautiful, but hide the prickles. She is dangerous, speaking of our Queen and that she will not return. The King and the nobles, they believe her words and act as if it were so."

Barriston nodded slowly as he began mounting the stairs. He'd gotten much the same feeling. _She is a Baratheon, after all, married to the sons of Cercei Lannister. And if Cercei approved of her, she cannot possibly be all that innocent. And with as close as she's gotten to the King, it's possible that she's trying to seek a crown here. He obviously has developed feelings for the girl._ He sighed. This was a problem he did not need.

"Grey Worm has heard that the armies of the Yunkani'i still seek to wage war against the Queen of Meereen," Grey Worm continued. "Even after their defeat by her dragons, the slave masters seek to infiltrate the city and cause disruptions. Especially as the Queen and her dragons are gone. They think that without the Queen's presence, they will win."

"Keep your men on alert," Ser Barriston ordered. "We'll have to be extra vigilant, especially after nightfall." The Yukani'i and the murders in the name of the Harpy, plus the Baratheon girl, and the King's continued resistance to anything he said, were all wearing on him. This was not the responsibility he wanted, but he'd sworn to assist his Queen in whatever way she needed and he would do his best, despite his own reluctance and all of the difficulties.

Margeary studied the room critically. It was her first dinner party and she wanted it to go smoothly. The Meereenese help were invaluable, and she was grateful they'd been assigned to her. She didn't know if they reported her comings and goings to Ser Barriston, but if they did that was fine too. She didn't do anything he couldn't know about.

The evening went smoothly. King Hazdahr kept her close to his side and acted as host, which was always a help, as she was still learning the customs and practices. Everyone seemed to enjoy the food, the wine was plentiful, and the conversation was light. The night was beautiful, and several people lounged on the terrace enjoying the balmy night air, and Margeary enjoyed the conversation about Lys and Pentos, places she told them she also hoped to visit. She also spoke at length of the beauty of Westeros, and how much Queen Danerys had wanted to travel to see more of the country. "The Seven Kingdoms are all so different," she said. "Each has a beauty unique to itself."

It almost dawn when the guests finally began to leave. Margeary yawned tiredly. It hadn't occurred to her that most of the nobles would stay the entire night, but it made sense given the unrest that occurred after nightfall. They were safest inside the Great Pyramid.

"A successful night," King Hizdahr smiled.

"Yes, successful." She yawned again.

"It is time for you to seek your bed," he said softly, pulling her into his arms.

She smiled up at him, relieved that he was leaving so that she could go to sleep. "Yes, I believe it is."

He leaned to kiss her lightly on the lips, and then again, more firmly. She didn't resist, although she didn't encourage him, either. His hands roamed down her back and then lower, and she stiffened. "Come now," he smiled sensuously, raising his head from her mouth. "Surely a woman such as you is not afraid of physical love?"

"Such as me?" Margeary asked, hearing the iciness of her tone. "What do you mean?"

"A woman who has buried three husbands," he said. "You are no inexperienced girl, let us not pretend."

"Two of those husbands died before the marriages could be consummated," she reminded him. "And the third was a boy of ten." She intended to step back, away from him, but he held her tightly.

"Then it is high time you learned the ways of love," he smiled again. "At your age, you should have born a child or two by now. Perhaps you will bear one for me, eh?" He nuzzled the side of her neck with his lips.

Where is that damn Septa when she's needed, Margeary thought frantically. "Your Radiance, have you forgotten that I am a friend to your Queen? A relationship between us is hardly appropriate."

"As you have reminded us, my Queen has gone home," he murmured against her cheek. "Who is to say if she will return? But a man has needs." He kissed her again, then stepped back, to her relief. "But I can see that you are hesitant. Consider carefully, Lady Margeary. Perhaps everything you thought you wanted is here after all, hmmm?"

Margeary waited until the door was closed before sighing in relief and looking towards her guards. "Where is that Septa?" she asked Captain Swyft.

"Gone to bed hours ago," he grunted.

"What good is she," Margeary said disgustedly.

"None that I can see," the Captain said, as he placed a hand on her back and led her towards her bedroom. "Do you think he was implying you could become Queen here?" he asked in a low voice.

Margeary hesitated. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But it did sound that way. But perhaps he just meant love and affection," she said uncertainly.

"He doesn't strike me as a man who places a high value on love and affection," the Captain said. "He values wealth and power, and assumes everyone else does as well. And that you've been married to three kings, well, he would assume that's what you're looking for in a husband. He may even assume that's why you're here, to convince him to put Queen Danerys aside and take you as his Queen. You're nobility, from a powerful house. Your father is an important man, and you've proven yourself so valuable that the King who overthrew your husband chose not to kill you, or even exile you."

Margeary was silent, as she couldn't refute anything he said. How would the King expect her to act, if she really was here to convince him to take her as his Queen? Would she be expected to fall into bed with him before the marriage? Saying goodnight to her Captain, she yawned again as the eunuch rose sleepily from his place at the foot of her bed to help her undress. But for all that she was exhaustedly tired, she couldn't manage to sleep, wondering what would be the next right move to make.


	11. Chapter 11

Dany shivered in the freezing cold. She was wearing three layers of clothes and two thick cloaks and still the cold felt like it was seeping into her bones. She couldn't imagine living in the North, for all that Sansa loved it. Their guide told them that they'd reach Castle Black by nightfall, thankfully. She was ready for a warm meal and a roaring fire.

Above them, Drogon soared ahead. She hadn't seen Viscerion or Rhegal in a few days, but she knew they were nearby. The horn that she'd gotten from that strange Captain had worked, just as it had when he'd had one of his men blow it. He hadn't expected that when they'd come, they'd obey her command to burn his ships to ash. He and his arrogant marriage demand. _You will marry me, or watch your own dragons burn your ships and men into the sea._ She smiled at the memory. She and the ships Tyrion had arranged had sailed on, the horn in her possession, the Captain – what had he said his name was, she wondered – and most of his ships left burning and sinking into the bay. Every time she blew it her dragons appeared. Of course, Messendei and the others said it felt like fire was consuming their bones the two times she'd blown it – once when leaving King's Landing, to summon her babies to her; and once when they'd arrived at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, to ensure they followed her inland – but the dragons responded, and that was all that mattered. Truthfully, she felt the flush of fire when she blew it herself. It enveloped her so fully that she was hesitant to allow anyone else to touch it.

She looked curiously at the cities of tents as they passed by. "The war has ravaged here as it has everywhere else," she sighed to their guide, a burly man who'd introduced himself as Brother Merek of the Night's Watch, sent by the Lord Commander to escort she and her party back to Castle Black.

"No, Your Majesty, these are the wildings," he said. "They lived on the other side of the wall, but once the white walkers reappeared, the Lord Commander let 'em come through and live here. So they'd be safe."

"I didn't realize there were any people on the other side of the wall," she said.

He nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Lots of 'em. And lots 'o other things too, Children of the Forest, and giants, and all manner 'o things. They all come floodin' to the wall for protection, and the Lord Commander, he let 'em in. Said we couldn't leave 'em out there to die. 'Sides, if the white walkers strike 'em down, they'd get back up after nightfall. Over here, there's no chance 'o that, at least."

Dany nodded. "If what I've heard about the white walkers is true, it makes sense to bring them here to safety. To leave them on the other side of the wall is to only feed the white walkers army." She shivered again.

Merek nodded. "Not everyone agreed," he said in a low voice. "Said that we shouldn't be responsible for the wildings and the others, we can't feed 'em and such. A few 'o 'em tried to kill the Lord Commander over it. But the Red Witch, she brought 'im back."

"The Red Witch?" Dany asked.

Merek nodded. "She came with King, er, Lord Stannis," he said. "One of his advisors. His wife, Lady Selyse, follows the Red God, Rahallor or something like that."

Dany nodded in understanding. "R'hllor. I've heard of Red Priests," she said. "But I didn't know there were any here in Westeros."

"As far as I know she's the only one," he said. "Never heard of her god before her, and I've been over most the Seven Kingdoms. Sees images in the fires, and makes blood sacrifices. Most 'o us don't like her none."

Finally they reached the Castle, just as the sun was setting. Dany was happy to dismount, and turned to smile politely at the handsome young man waiting for her, wrapped in a heavy black cloak trimmed in gray fur. Beside him, the largest wolf she'd ever seen sat quietly, it's eyes alert and focused on her.

"Your Majesty, welcome to Castle Black," he bowed. "I am Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Commander," she said with a small smile. "Your sister has told me much of you. I admit, I didn't recognize you, you look nothing alike."

"My sister?" he asked, confused, and then hopeful. "Sansa? You must mean Sansa, Arya and I both look like our father, whereas Sansa more heavily favors Lady Stark."

"Yes, Lady Sansa and I have become good friends. She sent a letter and a package for you."

Was there relief in his smile? "I'm happy to hear that she is well," he said. "Please, won't you come inside? The fire is warm, and there's a meal waiting. It's not as good as what you've been eating at the Keep, I'm sure, but it's hot and filling."

"I'd be delighted," she said, following him into the low wooden structure. "I am grateful for a hot meal. Tell me, would a bath be possible?"

"It would," he assured her as she removed her outer layers of clothing, handing them to the girl accompanying her and going to stand before the fire as Jon gave orders for her things and staff to be shown to her rooms. "Despite the term 'castle' we aren't the most luxurious of accommodations," he said, coming to stand beside her.

"Yes, Tyrion told me of his time here."

"Tyrion Lannister?" Jon smiled. "I'm happy to hear that he's still alive. And well, I hope?"

Dany looked at him. "Yes, very. He and your sister are quite happy together." Did he know?

Jon looked stunned. "Together? You mean, together? As in married, together?"

Dany couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping. "Yes. Tyrion told me that his father arranged the marriage after her betrothal to the boy King was set aside, so that they could have her claim to Winterfell. They all thought she was the only living child left. Now of course, we know that isn't true."

"It isn't?"

Dany shook her head. "No, Sansa told me that your younger brothers are alive. The youngest one is in…." she paused, trying to remember the name of the city. "White Harbor, I believe, with a Lord…."

"Manderly," Jon said, grinning. "Lord Manderly is in White Harbor. He and my father were good friends."

Dany nodded. "Yes, Sansa said much the same. And apparently, there are rumors that your other younger brother isn't dead either, Lord Manderly is searching for him. He plans to raise both the boys in his home, although Tyrion has said that when things settle some he plans to send for the smallest of the boys to join them in King's Landing."

Jon couldn't stop smiling. "Well, Your Majesty, you have brought me good news. I'm grateful to hear of my brothers and sister. Has Sansa mentioned anything about Arya?"

Dany shook her head sadly. "No, although she hopes that perhaps she's alive as well. She said that if anyone was stubborn enough to survive, it would be your sister."

Jon laughed. "Yes, that's true. If it can be done, Arya will find a way."

Dany smiled at his obvious joy, turning so that her back would feel some of the warmth of the fire. And saw the wolf. "That is a handsome animal," she said. "Is he yours?"

Jon nodded, extending his hand. Obediently, Ghost came and sat at his feet. "This is Ghost, he's a direwolf."

"A direwolf," she repeated softly. "I've never heard of them. There's so much about Westeros I'm still learning."

"They're specific to the North. Each of us has one." He rested his hand atop the large wolf's head.

"Each of you? Sansa does not."

Jon was confused. "Yes, hers is Lady. Arya's is Nymeria, Bran hadn't named his when I left, but Ricken's is Shaggydog. Robb's was Grey Wind."

Dany was shaking her head. "I've known Sansa for months, and heard about her extensively from Tyrion before that. I've never heard mention of a direwolf, and I've definitely never seen such an animal."

"Oh," Jon said sadly. "Well, I'm sure it's hard to have a direwolf in a large city. Perhaps something happened to her."

Dany was pleased to talk with the Lord Commander for a long while as she ate, listening as he spoke of the white walkers and all of the people and beings he'd allowed to resettle on this side of the wall for their safety. "Tell me, Jon, Merek said something about the Red Witch bringing you back when you died?" She kept her voice low, even though they were alone in the room.

Jon nodded, obviously uncomfortable. "I only remember feeling the pain of the blades, and then I opened my eyes and I was in my room with she and Ghost. She looked almost surprised," he said slowly. "And then she smiled and said something about her god and prophecies and blood and fire. I was a bit disoriented, so I don't remember it clearly."

Dany nodded slowly. "Are she and Lord Baratheon still here?"

"Lord Stannis and his army have gone south but his wife and daughter are still here, with Melisandre. The Red Priestess."

"Has he been informed that there is a Targaryn on the Iron Throne?" she asked.

Jon shrugged. "I don't know," he said honestly. "He left here before we got the raven informing us. Lady Selyse knows, although she refuses to acknowledge him as King."

She nodded again. "Well, I'm sure I'll have some time to speak with her," she said politely before asking to be shown her room. Messendei was waiting, the fire bright and cheerful in the hearth, and soon she was bathed and sighing as she relaxed in a comfortable bed for the first time in weeks. The room wasn't large, but it was enough. Tomorrow, she thought sleepily. I'll have to call the dragons and ride out to see if I can find these white walkers. Tomorrow.

Sansa smiled and waved to a group of children who called out to her as she rode by, pleased to notice they were all wearing heavy cloaks, boots, and gloves.

"Hullo, Lady Lannister!" a plump innkeeper called, smiling broadly. "I've a good, rich fish stew for the midday meal today with fresh bread, it's baking now! And a homemade nut cake!"

"I'll be back," she promised the smiling woman.

She and Alinor checked on several housing structures being built, and selected a few other lots for additional buildings with their foreman. "It's slow goin in this weather, milady," he frowned. "The ground is hard as rocks, and the wood's all damp."

"I know," Sansa said regretfully, pulling her hood forward as the snow began to lightly fall. "But the King has tasked us with getting these people off of the streets. They may have to be pulled down and rebuilt when spring comes again, but for now we must do the best we can." The man sighed and grumbled, but agreed.

She and Alinor settled a few bills with bakers and innkeepers who were feeding the poor, and with the old woman who created the maester's salves, and with the stables who were allowing people to sleep in the empty stalls. Then she stopped at a dressmaker to discuss her gown for the King's Ball and wedding. She still had three weeks and was pleased with the progress she'd made, but knew that as the time got closer she'd become busier, so wanted to get it out of the way. Finally, they were done.

"Let's go back to the inn we passed and eat, and then get back to the Keep," she said, yawning.

"You need a nap before we meet with the steward, I think," Alinor grinned.

"I don't have time for a nap," Sansa smiled. "I don't know why I'm so tired today, I slept well."

"Actually, my lady, perhaps we should skip the meal and return to the Keep," Ser Milton said. "That way you can rest."

Sansa shook her head. "No, I've promised to return. I'll be fine." She made to move towards her horse, but Ser Lothor stopped her.

"My lady, there's someone following us," he said quietly. "I'd prefer we return to the Keep."

"Are you sure it's not just one of the children, who's a little shy?" she asked. They were usually followed by a crowd of children, calling out to her and hoping for a treat or a few coins.

"Children don't wear swords beneath their cloaks," Ser Milton said grimly. "No, this is a young man, not much more than a boy. He's been trailing us for hours now."

"Perhaps he's looking for work," she said. She was approached regularly to ask for some way to earn their living. She'd put most to work assisting with the building projects, and others to various places in the Keep. She'd even had Tyrion send some to Casterly Rock for his staff, and two had been on the boat with Dany, going to Winterfell.

"Wearing a sword?" Alinor said skeptically.

Sansa sighed. "I'd really rather not," she said. "I have four guards, and all of you and Alinor are wearing your swords. And I'm wearing mine, and my daggers. I won't be taken easily. But if I'm going to get through the rest of this day, I need a hot meal." She yawned again.

"Lord Lannister will skin us all alive if anything happens to you," Ser Lothor sighed.

"Well that thought should keep you all on your toes," Sansa grinned, moving to mount her horse as the others followed. They were quiet and pensive as they made their way back to where they'd started and took a table in the back, at Ser Lothor's insistence. She usually preferred to be by the large window, but understood. He also had her sit with her back to the wall, and they all around her.

The innkeeper had just served them the delicious smelling stew and a loaf of fresh bread – still warm from the oven – when Ser Tomas stiffened slightly beside her. "He just walked in," he muttered around a mouthful of stew.

Sansa lifted her eyes as she raised her cup to smile at the innkeeper, then froze when she saw the young man standing at the bar, his hood pushed back. His brown hair was mussed, as if he'd run his fingers through it repeatedly. His gray eyes were firm on her face, a face that was familiar as her own.

She didn't realize she was standing until she pushed past her guards, moving quickly, stopping before him, her eyes searching his face. Hot tears filled her eyes. "Arya?" she whispered.

The grin was all the answer she needed, and she flung her arms around her sister with a cry of delight. _"Arya!"_

Eventually they were seated at the table, Sansa still crying happy tears. "I don't know why I can't stop crying," she smiled, wiping her face for the umpteenth time. "I'm so happy to see you!"

Arya grinned as she dipped her spoon into the bowl of stew. "You're such a girl," she teased.

Sansa laughed. "Stop pretending like you're a boy!"

"Being a boy is the only thing that's kept me alive," she said seriously. "No one was looking for Arrie Snow."

"Well there's no longer a bounty on your head, so you can resume being Lady Arya," Sansa said firmly.

Arya shrugged. "Maybe. I'm fine with Arrie, honestly."

Sansa sighed and shook her head. "Eat something, my lady," Alinor laughed. "I'm sure you and your sister will have plenty of time to talk."

Tyrion frowned thoughtfully at the letter in his hand. He hadn't expected to hear anything about the matter so soon – if at all – from Lord Manderly, but definitely not this.

 _Lord Lannister –_

 _Caitlyn Stark arrived at my home last week, with a few men who called themselves her guard. She is drastically changed from the gentle lady that we both knew. Her son refused to so much as go near her, and his wolf growled so ferociously that the men drew weapons against it. Although she can no longer speak due to the wound on her throat, she whispers to one of the men who speaks for her. I did have an opportunity to tell her that Lady Sansa is alive and well, and living with you in King's Landing. She asked why I hadn't 'rescued' Lady Sansa from you, and made me promise that if young Bran is found that I will raise both of the boys personally, and keep them from you at all costs. To say that she was displeased with the news of your continuing marriage is an understatement. She is very different, Lord Tyrion, hard and cold and murderous. She disappeared from my home yesterday morning, she and her men. She didn't even say goodbye to the boy. I worry that they are heading to King's Landing._

There was more, about his want to foster Rickon with one of the Northern Lords instead of sending him to King's Landing as Tyrion had requested, and the continuing difficulties the North faced.

Tyrion dropped the letter with a sigh. He'd hoped that what Jamie and Brienne and Pod had told him wasn't true, and that Caitlyn Stark would still be the devoted mother that he remembered. But a near death experience – or actual death, if Jamie and Brienne were to be believed – had a way of changing people. Damn. If she were actually on her way to King's Landing…. he'd have to tell Sansa, he realized. He'd hoped to tell her that her mother was alive, but not like this. He didn't want to tell her that Lord Manderly had called her mother 'murderous' and that Rickon wouldn't go anywhere near her, and that even his direwolf wouldn't approach her. And not only that, but if they _were_ heading to King's Landing, they'd probably arrived before the letter, which had taken at least two weeks. She could already be here. He called for a servant. "Has Lady Lannister returned from the city?"

"Not yet, my lord," the girl said.

"Let me know when she does, I need to speak with her. No," he said. "Tell Ser Lothor that I need to speak with him immediately when they return. I'll speak to my wife afterwards."

Sansa wouldn't see her own mother as a threat to her safety, but there was no doubt in Tyrion's mind that Caitlyn Stark would rather see Sansa dead than married to him. He'd have to persuade her somehow to stay in the Keep until he could locate them. That would be hard with her work in the city. He called for a servant again. "Send for Lord Varys, tell him I need to speak with him rather immediately."

Varys arrived first, in a cloud of his usual lavender scent, his face expertly powered. "You asked for me, my lord?"

"Yes," Tyrion said. "Tell me, did you hear of the tale my brother and Lady Brienne told of Caitlyn Stark?"

"I may have heard a passing whisper," he said demurely, waving a lacy fan before his face. "Walls have ears."

"I need you to know more than a passing whisper."

"Then it is fortunate that I do," he tittered.

"I've received word that Lady Caitlyn is on her way to King's Landing. It is entirely possible that she's already here."

"Oh my," Varys looked distressed, his eyes large, lying a white hand against his throat. "Oh, I'm certain that she's very distressed about your marriage."

"As am I," Tyrion said, his gaze steely. "And I am equally certain that she would rather see my lady wife dead before she allows her to remain Lady Tyrion Lannister."

"Oh!" Varys gasped softly, visibly shocked. "Oh, I'm sure she _wouldn't_."

"I'm sure she would. Varys, I need you to find out if Lady Caitlyn is in fact, in King's Landing. And I need it done quickly. I'm certain the King would not appreciate a threat to my lady wife's life."

"The King is certainly very fond of our Lady Sansa, is he not? Showering her with jewels and flowers. He is so generous with his affection. I agree, he would want her to be safe at all costs. I'm happy to look into it for you, my lord." Varys looked discreetly away, the gently moving fan once again hiding the lower half of his face.

Jewels? Flowers? Tyrion kept his gaze steady with an effort. "Thank you, my lord. I am in your debt."

Varys giggled delightedly. "No more than you already were, my lord," he said sweetly, as he rose from his chair. "This is just a small favor between friends, hmmm?"

"Yes," Tyrion murmured to his back. "A small favor between friends."

"Oh, Lord Tyrion," Varys turned suddenly before he reached the door, as if only just remembering something. "I've heard word of your brother, Lord Jamie. It seems that he has violated the King's exile order and is still in Dorne."

Tyrion frowned in earnest. "Still?" Jamie had planned to stay in Dorne for no more than a week or two. "Does the King know?"

"Not to my knowledge," Varys assured him. "It seems as though a maester there has convinced Lady Brienne that he can repair the damage to her," he patted his own flawless cheek gently. "And, I've also heard rumors that Prince Tristayne is _very_ reluctant to allow Lady Myrcella to leave, despite her mother and brother's deaths."

Tyrion sighed. The King hadn't wanted to allow Jamie _or_ Myrcella to live, and it had taken all of his considerable persuasive skills to keep them so. If he found out that Jamie had disobeyed him…. "Varys, my friend, I'm certain that as soon as Lady Brienne is fully healed they'll move on to Pentos, as they'd planned," Tyrion said with a small smile. "No need for the King to hear about this."

"Oh, none at all," Varys giggled. "Just a small favor between friends."

Tyrion watched him go. Small favors to Varys could easily be the death of him, but he literally owed the man his life. And what was this about the King giving Sansa flowers and jewels, he wondered? And why hadn't he heard anything about it? He stared at the door for a long moment before sliding out of his chair, heading determinedly towards their bedroom.


	12. Chapter 12

Tyrion looked down on the ball below him, stifling a yawn. He hated these typed of events but had to admit that Sansa had outdone herself. Every dinner, every flower, every decoration, every minute detail had been perfection. The Lady of the Keep, indeed.

Of course, the last week she'd been violently ill every morning and miraculously fine by early afternoon. Only that morning, he'd lay beside her after she'd collapsed into their bed after her morning rush to the privy.

"Love, have you realized what's wrong yet?" he asked gently, pushing her sweat dampened hair back from her forehead.

She nodded, swallowing, and opened her eyes. "We're having a baby," she whispered, smiling slightly.

He'd pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there for a long while. When he'd finally pulled away, she'd been sleeping. He smiled now, thinking about it. Hopefully, the child would look nothing like him. Perhaps an auburn haired, blue eyed girl, like her mother. Or a son, tall and blonde, that would hopefully look like his handsome uncle.

"There you are, Tyrion," the King said, coming to stand beside him. "Why are you hiding up here?"

"Oh these types of things bore me to tears, Your Majesty," he said cheerfully. "I cannot dance and if I'm down there, Sansa will feel obligated to remain by my side. And she has far too much to do."

"She looks lovely tonight," the King said mildly.

"Yes, she does," Tyrion agreed, as both men easily found her, a vision in a white dress with a silver and white overskirt, her hair trailing down her back in a mass of auburn curls, diamonds sparkling around her neck. "So," Tyrion turned to look at the King. "Have you made your choice?"

The King was silent for a long minute. "Probably Lady Samyra Hawthorne."

Tyrion frowned. "She reminds me far too much of my sweet sister for my tastes." The girl was cunning, and not quite as intelligent as she thought, although she was pretty enough.

"I prefer Jorra Jast," the King said slowly. "But, she isn't the most intelligent of them, is she?"

"No, but she is a sweet girl, warm and kind," Tyrion said. "And certainly the most beautiful of them, aside from Princess Arianne." Who had made it clear that first evening that she had no intention of becoming the Queen, and asked only that the King consider a marriage between his eventual heir and hers, and perhaps that he would consider giving Highgarden to her brother Trystane, as he'd given up Mycella at the King's request. Tyrion advised against it, and the King was inclined to agree. He intended to pass Highgarden – and the title of Warden of the South – to the father of whomever he took as his bride. But he wasn't opposed to offering Prince Trystane a title and land, somewhere far from his father. Perhaps in the North, or the Vale.

"I can't see Lady Jorra arranging this type of event, or overseeing the work Sansa has been doing in the city," the King sighed.

Tyrion was silent for a long moment, watching the dancing couples below them. The subject of their discussion was also easily identifiable, with her raven black hair and porcelain skin. Her eyes were the clear, bright green of emeralds, her nose pert, her mouth small and bow shaped, her figure lush. "Your Majesty," he said slowly. "A wife has the ability to make your life sweeter than the heavens, or more miserable than all seven hells. You are in the unique position of being able to choose your bride without thought for your kingdom. You already have a Lady of the Keep and as long as I'm here, she will be here. And she is thrilled with the work she is doing, and happy to continue it. Choose a bride that is most pleasing to you. I would advise Lady Joraa."

"Surely I should choose a bride who has an interest in something besides music and flowers," the King protested. "Although she is sweet and I do enjoy her company, and she is certainly beautiful, a Queen must be able to serve her kingdom as much as her King does."

"That is a wonderful sentiment," Tyrion said wryly. "However, the last Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was enough to sour most of us on queens for a few lifetimes. No, Your Majesty. A queen who is interested in nothing but music and flowers may be exactly what Westeros needs right now. Should the need for queenly attribution arise, Sansa is here."

The King was silent for a moment. "I suppose," he said quietly. "I'm glad Sansa is feeling better."

Tyrion smiled. "Come morning, she'll be rushing to the privy again. She's pregnant." He was looking down at Sansa and so didn't see the angry red flush that swept the King's face. He did, however, notice his silence and glance at him. By then, the King was smiling.

"Congratulations," he said. "How delightful." His tone said it was anything but.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. We're very pleased." How long would it take for him to get over this? He wondered. The boy was about to marry one of the most beautiful girls in the Seven Kingdoms, surely he should be over it by now, it had been months.

Eventually, the King left him and returned to the ball, leaving Tyrion yawning again and wondering how much longer he'd have to pretend to stay. He knew Sansa was probably looking for him, she did tend to want to stay near him. He knew he should return but he'd rather go to his solar and work.

"My lord, you aren't enjoying the festivities?" Varys asked quietly, stepping up beside him.

"Not particularly," Tyrion said with a smile. "You?"

Varys shrugged. "Your lady has outdone herself. Everything is lovely."

"Yes she has, I am immensely proud of her," Tyrion smiled.

"She would have made an excellent queen."

"Yes, she would. And in many ways, she is." Varys nodded, smiling slightly. "Tell me something, my friend," Tyrion continued slowly, as a thought came to him. "When Robert's Rebellion began, why is it that King Aerys sent his Queen to safety at Dragonstone, but Prince Rheagar kept Princess Elia and his children here in King's Landing?"

"To ensure that her brother would send his support," Varys said. "They needed the Dornish troops to ensure a victory. The King and Prince believed that without his sister's immenent danger as a threat, they wouldn't come."

"Still, it seems he could have done more to ensure their safety," Tyrion said skeptically.

"Perhaps," Varys shrugged. "Why do you ask, my lord?" Tyrion glanced around them. "We are alone," Varys assured him.

"I have to wonder if perhaps Prince Rheagar…didn't mind if his Princess died in the fighting," Tyrion said carefully. "As he already had Lyanna Stark locked in the Tower of Joy. It has always been rumoured that he loved her dearly."

Varys merely shrugged. "Anything is possible, my lord."

Tyrion nodded slowly. "And is it also 'possible' that Prince Rheagar married Lady Lyanna? Targaryens have also been known to take more than one bride."

Varys shrugged again. "Anything is possible."

"Is it 'possible' that Lady Lyanna was pregnant?"

"Anything is possible," Varys smiled.

"And where would that babe be, if it were born? Possibly?"

"Oh, dead. Surely." Varys looked shocked at the thought.

"And you saw this with your own eyes?" Tyrion asked quietly.

"No, but one hears. Walls have ears."

"Did one also hear that at the same time Lady Lyanna's possible child died, Ned Stark appeared with a bastard child?"

"Yes," Varys said slowly, his gaze as sharp as his smile. "A black haired, gray eyed boy who looks strikingly like his father."

"Or his mother," Tyrion said in an urgent whisper, turning to face Varys fully. "Are you saying that it is possible that Jon Snow is the son of Prince Rheagar?"

"Walls have ears, my lord," Varys hissed sharply, then visibly composed himself. "Some things are best left unspoken surely, after all of these years, and on such a happy occasion. Our King is choosing his bride. Surely such depressing things can be forgotten." His voice was pleasant, as was his expression. But his eyes…his eyes spoke other words, and Tyrion heard them as clearly as if they'd been said aloud. A cold finger of fear slid down his spine. Suddenly, Tyrion remembered that Varys was the one who'd arranged his escape from prision, and put him in a crate and sent him to Essos. Varys was the one who'd managed to save the boy King, and coordinate his care and eventual ascent to the throne.

Tyrion smiled, then nodded. "You're right, of course," he said, happily. "The King is choosing a bride, and my own bride is giving me a child. Not a time for depressing bygones."

Varys gasped happily. "Oh, congratulations, my lord! How wonderful!"

Tyrion couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. "Yes, it is." His gaze found Sansa once again. "It _is_ wonderful, isn't it. Varys," he said as the man made to move away. "Have I ever told you how deeply grateful to you I am? Without your intervention, I would literally be dead. Instead, I am Hand of the King, married to a beautiful woman who loves me and is giving me a child, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and living a life beyond anything I could have imagined. I am forever indebted to you, my friend. Should I ever be able to render you assistance, please let me know."

The satisfied smiled that spread across Varys face was exactly what Tyrion wanted to see. _Yes, remember that I am your friend, and can be useful,_ Tyrion thought. "You are most welcome, my lord," Varys said, before stepping silently away, leaving Tyrion to stare at his wife as he reflected on the true source of power in the Seven Kingdoms.

The next morning Tyrion and the King met with Lord Jast and his oldest son, and made the official offer for Lady Jorra's hand. When he accepted, the King pronounced him the Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, and offered him a seat on the Small Council. He also offered Lady Margeary to his oldest son, as wife. "She's lovely and intelligent, and well familiar with Highgarden," Tyrion told them. "I'm sure you'll find her to be a most gracious hostess, and eager to settle down to a quiet life." As Lord Jast's wife had died recently, he knew Highgarden would need a lady. And this would give Margeary exactly what she wanted – to go home. According to both her and Captain Swyft's letters, she was succeeding brilliantly at her task.

Byrun Jast frowned. "That thrice married girl is hardly a prize," he said, his voice tight with insult.

"Thrice married, but never bedded," Tyrion reminded him. "Her marriage to both Renly Baratheon and Jeoffry were never consummated, and Tommen was a boy of ten, theirs was a marriage in name only."

"And she has become a friend to me," the King said firmly. "I offer you an honor, my lord. Lady Margeary has proven herself both resourceful and kind, so much so that I have sent her to perform an errand for me on my behalf. I am eager to see that she is well cared for. If you do not feel that you can accomplish that task, I will find another."

When he'd grudgingly agreed and they'd left, he looked to Tyrion. "If that old man lives to step foot in Highgarden I will be amazed."

Tyrion nodded. "He was a loyal bannerman of my father's," he said. "But he was taken captive during the war. There's no telling what atrocities he endured during that time. But his son is strong and intelligent, and I belive you will find him more than capable. And Margeary will be a good wife to him, and a gracious lady."

As Sansa had already made all of the arrangements, the wedding happened only two weeks later. The bride was blushing and beautiful as her father escorted her in, and the King handsome in his deep purple and black attire. When the vows were said and the wedding feast eaten and the happy couple retired to their room – to much teasing and joking – Sansa and Tyrion walked hand in hand back to their rooms.

"How do feel?" he asked softly.

Sansa shrugged, but smiled. "Fine," she assured him. "Tired. Between struggling to stay away and running to the privy, it's amazing that I've managed to accomplish anything."

Tyrion chuckled. "Yes, I'm told that's normal in the early months. But now that all of this is done, perhaps you can rest a bit."

Sansa nodded, yawning. "A bit," she said happily. "Until the Queen is ready to accompany me into the city." They'd already discussed that she would continue to oversee the castle and work in the city and as Tyrion had assumed, she was happy to do so.

Once in their rooms he left her in Alinor's care – ordering both of them to bed early, as they'd worked extrodinarily hard to arrange everything on top of their work in the city and the keep – and went to his solar. Before the wedding the King had asked if he'd heard anything from the North and Tyrion had assured him that he had not. What he had received was a letter to Dany from Barriston Selmy, asking her to return to Meereen as soon as possible, as the Yunkani'i army were slowly infiltrating the city, and the remains of the Iron Fleet had sailed into the harbor, threatening war for killing the brother of the King of the Iron Islands. He and Grey Worm were struggling to maintain control.

Tyrion sighed as he thought of the brave old knight. He'd urged Ser Barriston to return to Westeros with them, but he'd refused. "I've given my sword to my Queen, and will honor her request to stay here," he'd said stiffly. Tyrion hated to think that the great Barriston the Bold would die in Meereen, but the man had chosen his place. Gathering the letter along with the others that he'd been holding, he bundled them together and dropped them into a drawer. Perhaps he'd send them north, in a week or two. He'd yet to hear from the Wall, or either of the Stark children. He could only hope that no news was good news.


	13. Chapter 11a

**I apologize, this should have been posted before the last chapter. Not sure how the order got mixed up, but you'll need to read this for the last two chapters to make sense.**

 _ **Chapter 11a**_

Arya made her way up the sweeping grand staircase, following silently behind Alinor. In the week since she'd returned to King's Landing, she'd realized that nothing had changed. While there were still some fascinating parts to the city, for the most part, she didn't like it. And the war had ravaged here, with people hungry and cold. Sansa was loved by most of the people – that didn't surprise Arya at all – as she was the face of the King, passing out golden dragons so that people could buy what food there was to be had, and paying shopkeepers and innkeepers to house and feed the poor. The Lady of the Keep, working hard to save them all. They all adored her. Their mother would be proud.

For all of her wanderings in the city, Arya had managed to avoid the Red Keep, preferring to stay in one of the more comfortable inns in the city. And since Sansa had been ill with some sort of stomach ailment, she hadn't pressed her about it. But it was high time she talked to her sister, ill or not. She wanted to return to Winterfell, at least for a visit. She didn't know if she'd stay permanently – she didn't know what she wanted to do permanently – but for now, she just wanted to go home. And perhaps detour through White Harbor and hug Rickon. She wondered if he'd even remember her. He'd been a baby of only four years when she'd left. Now at seven, he might not remember any of their true family. The thought made her both angry and sad.

Sansa was sitting in a chair, gingerly sipping a cup of hot tea. She was pale and looked terribly frail. "Whatever is wrong with you?" Arya asked, handing her heavy cloak to Alinor and dropping into a chair across from her sister. "You look horrible."

Sansa grimaced. "Thank you," she said in an effort to be sarcastic. She sounded exhausted. "How kind of you to point it out, as if I didn't know." She took another tiny sip of tea.

Arya lifted a small cake from the tray on the table between them, and poured herself a cup of tea. "Well, you do."

"My stomach just hasn't kept much food lately," she sighed, lowering her cup to the table and laying her head against the back of the chair. "But I'm feeling a little better." She had far too much to do. Alinor had been running around keeping everything under control, but the guests were due to start arriving within the week. Thankfully her stomach was calming some, and she'd been able to keep a few fluids and some biscuits down.

"Ah well, if it isn't the lovely Stark ladies," Tyrion smiled, coming into the room.

Arya studied him. She'd heard that he and Sansa were married, and how the King trusted him implicitly. "How did you manage to get even uglier?" she wondered.

" _Arya!_ " Sansa exclaimed, aghast.

But Tyrion only chuckled. "Now love, let's not pretend. Losing one's nose has a way of disfiguring even the most handsome of men, which I've never been." He climbed up onto the sofa.

"And you're certain you want to stay married to him?" Arya asked skeptically.

"Yes," Sansa said firmly, her eyes closed, her head once again lying against the back of her chair.

"I know it's difficult to believe, Lady Arya, given our differences and the fact that the marriage was forced on us. But Sansa and I have managed to find love in each other. And I will assure you just as I did her, that I will spend the rest of my life making her happy," Tyrion said seriously.

"See to it that you do," Arya said mildly. "Stay away from the whores and treat her well, because if I hear so much as a rumor that you've displeased her, I will make her a widow."

"Arya," Sansa moaned, never opening her eyes. "Stop it. You'll do no such thing."

But Tyrion was watching his young sister by marriage carefully, and he believed her. "I will," he said slowly, wondering where she'd been the last few years. He'd have to make some time to speak with her, and perhaps have Varys do some digging. He didn't know that one more 'favor between friends' would make much of a difference in the debt he owed the man.

"Actually, I'm glad to find the two of you together," Tyrion said slowly. "Jamie told me something before he left, and I didn't want to mention it until I was certain, but now I am. It seems Lady Caitlyn is alive. She was badly injured in the murder attempt, but apparently it was not the fatal wound that we thought."

Both women stared at him. "How do you know?" Arya asked slowly, setting down her cup and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

Tyrion was momentarily struck by how much like her father she looked. "Jamie saw her, along with Brienne of Tarth, and my squire, Poderick Payne. All three spent time with her. I sent a group out to search for her, to see if they could find her and let her know that Sansa and Rickon were alive, and send her to White Harbor. I received a letter from Lord Manderly that she arrived a few weeks ago. But," he hesitated. "He said she's changed. Jamie said it as well, that her hair's gone gray and that she looks much older than her years. But Lord Manderly said that Rickon was afraid of her, and wouldn't go anywhere near her. And that his wolf growled so ferociously that the men accompanying her drew weapons against it. She," he hesitated. "She's become hateful. He used the word 'murderous.' She hates everyone named Frey or Lannister."

"Can you blame her?" Arya spat.

"No, not at all," Tyrion said honestly. "I'm not fond of most of the Lannisters myself, truth be told, and the Frey's are all despicable. But given that I am a Lannister and your sister is married to me, your mother is understandably angry. She left Lord Manderly's home early one morning, without saying so much as goodbye to anyone, even your brother. He's worried that she's on her way here, to Sansa and I. But Varys can find no trace of her here in the city."

"So she's somewhere between White Harbor and here?" Sansa asked softly. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her mother was alive?

Tyrion nodded. "I would think so," he said. "Or perhaps she's heading up to Winterfell, I don't know. But I _am_ certain that she's alive. Or she was as of a few weeks ago."

Arya nodded. "I'll find her," she said firmly. "I'm heading up to Winterfell anyway, and I'd already planned to stop in White Harbor and see Rickon. I was going to take a ship, but I'll take the King's Road instead."

"Oh but Arya, the weather….." Sansa said weakly. "And you're only a child, you can't go. Besides, a woman alone on the road isn't safe."

Arya shrugged. "I'll be fine. And Arry isn't a woman." She grinned.

Tyrion nodded. "Let me know what you'll need and I'll get it together for you," he said. Arya started to say no, but then stopped and stared at him consideringly. "A rich and powerful brother is always an asset, my lady," Tyrion smiled. She nodded.

"Well, I'd best be on my way," Tyrion said, sliding from the sofa. "I have a meeting with Lord Connington and the King." He went to stand next to Sansa, laying his hand over hers as she smiled wanly at him. "Love, I want you to lie down and rest soon," he said firmly.

She nodded. "I will," she promised.

"Alright, I'll see you at dinner. And will I see you, my sweet sister?"

"Don't call me that," Arya snapped, remembering that he'd used the phrase to refer to Cercei while he was at Winterfell. "And no."

He nodded. "Leave me the list of what you'll need." Patting Sansa's hand, he waddled from the room.

"And you're _sure_ you want to remain married to him?" Arya asked again.

"Yes," Sansa said, a tinge of exasperation in her tone. "I do."

"Why?" Arya couldn't understand it. "The King overrode Rickon's claim to the title of Winterfell in open court, you could have any lord you wanted."

"I don't want a man who only wants me for my title," she sighed. "Tyrion has his own lands, he could care less about mine. He wants me for _me._ "

"Yes, but why do _you_ want _him_?"

"Because he's kind," she said tiredly. "He cares for me. And he's a good man, despite his appearance. Everyone thinks he's just another monsterous Lannister, but he's not. He's nothing like his father or sister."

"There are kind men who aren't named Lannister, and who don't look like a troll."

"Really, Arya. I am going to require you to watch your tongue," Sansa said sharply. "My choice of husband is my business, not yours. And that is the end of it."

She sounded so much like their mother that Arya's heart stuttered. "I suppose," she shrugged carelessly, lifting her tea cup again. "Do you really think it's Mother?"

Sansa nodded. "Tyrion wouldn't have said anything if he wasn't sure, he wouldn't want to get our hopes up. He said Lord Jamie told him, and he's been gone for months now. If he's only just mentioning it, it's because he's certain."

"I don't know," Arya said skeptically, the wolf dream of over a year ago fresh in her mind. "But if it _is_ her, I'll find her."

"Arya, you're twelve years old, you can't go running off to Winterfell alone," Sansa said, trying to sound firm. "And I'm going to move you here, into our rooms. I'm your family, your guardian. You should be here with me."

"No, you're not. Technically, your husband is. And I'm not moving in here, and I am going to Winterfell. I've been taking care of myself on my own for almost three years now," she said loudly when Sansa tried to interrupt her. "I've managed to keep myself alive, fed, and sheltered. I'm not going to start bowing and scraping to anybody, especially not you," she said rudely. "So deal with it and I'll keep in touch. Or I'll disappear again. I don't care either way."

" _Oooooohh why are you so frustrating!_ " Sansa said, rubbing her head tiredly.

"Because unlike you, I don't need anyone to tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing," Arya answered stubbornly. "I'll take care of myself."

From his solar Tyrion smiled as he listened to the two sisters argue. Yes, he definitely needed to spend some time with his young sister.

Five days later, after a lengthy conversation with Tyrion and the King – against Sansa's wishes, and with Tyrion's blessing – Arya mounted the tall dapple gray stallion in the Keep's stable, a pack mule loaded with supplies tied to her saddle. Sansa had ordered a heavier cloak for her, with matching gloves. Her new boots were fur lined with thick soles. Tyrion had also given her a bag of gold coins. "Stay at an inn as often as possible," he'd told her. "The skies are clear this morning but I'm sure they won't stay that way as you move further north. Be safe, little sister." He'd realized she had no objection to that phrase and now used it regularly in place of her name, and she'd begun to mockingly refer to him as 'big brother.'

She kept a wary eye out for bandits, but for days the King's Road was quiet, just she and the horse she'd named Stubborn for his tendancy to go his own way even when she tried to lead him another. They fought for a full day before he finally submitted to her will and followed his reins.

She'd been on the road for over a week when the sudden storm came up. She was hours away from the closest inn, so decided to make camp in a thick grove of trees just off the road, hoping it would provide some shelter from the rapidly falling snow. She found an area remarkably free of moisture and tied off Stubborn and the mule and began hunting for wood for a fire. Soon she was beside the cheerful blaze, her back to several tall tree trunks as she pulled out some of the dried meat, fruit, and bread she'd gotten at the last inn. After she ate she dozed lightly, still sitting against the tree, knowing she wouldn't sleep well while in the forest alone, waking periodically to toss a few more sticks onto the fire to keep the blaze high. She kept her thick cloak wrapped tightly around her, her hood pulled up over her head. She didn't know how long this storm would last, but hopefully in the morning it would have lightened enough for her to get to the next inn. She was certain she was close.

Her eyes snapped open when both Stubborn and the mule began to whinny and stomp. Her eyes searched the darkness, as her hand reached for Needle. She rose slowly, pushing back her hood. "Show yourself," she called out, tossing the heavy cloak over her shoulder so that her sword hand was freely exposed.

The horse and mule grew increasingly more agitated, and she was grateful they were both tied securely. "I know you're out there," she said, listening carefully to ensure no one came up behind her. "You might as well show yourself." She stopped when she saw golden eyes in the shadows. "Nymeria?" she whispered. The dire wolf loped forward, stopping almost uncertainly on the other side of the fire.

" _Nymeria!"_ Arya dropped to one knee, dropping Needle and extending her arms happily. With a joyful yelp the huge direwolf ran to her, knocking her over and licking her joyfully as Arya laughed.

When she left the clearing the next morning, Nymeria was no where to be found, but Arya wasn't worried. She managed to make it to the inn, but just as she was leading Stubborn to the stable, she saw a familiar figure.

"Go on then!" The stable master yelled at the older man. "I'll not have the likes of you around scaring my horses!"

"Now goodman," Arya said, dismounting. "That's no way to speak to a Kingsguard." Both men stared at her warily. "Ser Ilyn, isn't it?" she said.

He hesitated, and then jerked his head in a nod.

"Do you remember me?" she asked.

He nodded again.

"You tellin me this is Ser Ilyn Payne?" the stableman asked.

"Yes, it is," she said as Ser Ilyn nodded again, his face a mask of fury. "King's Justice, under both King Robert and King Jeoffrey." His Kingsguard white was dingy and dirty, the white cape nowhere to be found. Instead he wore a dingy brown cloak with matted fur that had seen better days.

"Oh," the stable master said grudgingly. "Well, my apologies, Ser."

Ser Ilyn said nothing, only mounted his horse and rode away, Arya following. She followed him for almost two miles before he stopped in the middle of the road and turned to wait for her, his brow raised in silent inquiry.

"Are you alright, Ser?" she asked politely. "Do you have any money? I can spare a few dragons, if you need."

He eyed her skeptically, then shook his head, and continued on. She fell in beside him. "I know that King Aegon will be pleased to see you," she said. "He wasn't happy to return and find his Kingsguard all scattered. And you served his grandfather, he'll be pleased with that. And you knew his father. Of course, you can't tell him anything, but still. I think he'll be happy to see you."

Ser Ilyn didn't respond.

"The snow is getting heavier," Arya said, after another mile. "There's a clearing up ahead, why don't we wait it out there?"

Again, he didn't respond, but followed her off the road back into the same clearing where she'd spent the night. She kept up a steady stream of chatter about King's Landing and King Aegon and Sansa and Tyrion as they set up their small camp, and Ser Ilyn made the fire. She offered him food, but he shook his head and indicated the water skin, then frowned when he realized it was actual water. She grinned as she rose to retirieve another skin from the mule. "Sorry, here, this one is wine. Tyrion forced it on me when I left, he said I might need it to keep warm."

She fell silent after she ate, staring quietly into the fire. Ser Ilyn's head turned suddenly, and he reached for his sword.

"It's just Nymeria," she said. "My dire wolf." Nymeria padded silently into the clearing, growling softly at Ser Ilyn.

"Nymeria," Arya said, holding out her hand. The wolf came to her side and sat beside her, her eyes never leaving Ser Ilyn.

He finished Tyrion's wine and eventually dozed off as Arya kept the fire burning brightly. She studied him for a long while. He'd obviously fallen on hard times. She wondered idly what had happened to him.

She and Nymeria rose silently, and she held Needle's scabbard to keep the sword silent as she pulled it free. His eyes snapped open when he felt Nymeria's hot breath on his skin, her teeth bared as she growled menacingly. Behind her, Arya smiled. "Did you think I'd forgotten how happy you were to remove my father's head? I haven't." He moved quickly but Nymeria caught his sword arm in her jaws, ripping it from his shoulder just as Needle slashed across his neck. He lay there, blood pouring from him, as Arya watched. "Justice for the King's Justice," she said softly. After cleaning Needle she untied Stubborn and the mule and left the clearing, leaving his horse tied beside him. It could rot, for all she cared. She headed back to the inn to wait out the rest of the storm.

Tyrion told Pod to send his breakfast to him in his solar. "Also, send for Ser Lothor." He was still yawning as he crawled up into his chair, just as a servant came in with a thick envelope.

"This was just delivered for you, my lord," the man said. Tyrion thanked him, recognizing Jon Connington's scrawled writing.

 _Tyrion –_

 _I've developed greyscale from pulling you out of the river, so I cannot stay. I haven't told my boy, because I do not want him to hate you as much as I do. I was looking forward to returning home, and seeing my boy on the throne. Instead I am on a boat about to drink poison and instruct the crew to throw my body overboard so that I don't infect anyone, even in death. Yes, Tyrion, I hate you. I also trust you. I've worn at least two pair of gloves constantly, so everything should be safe. But just in case, have my things burned so that they don't infect anyone. Take care of my boy, lead him well. With you there to temper him, I know that he will be a great King, one worthy of the name Targaryen._

 _JC_

Tyrion dropped the letter on the desk. "Damn," he sighed. He slid out of his chair, ripping the letter in half, then fourths, then eights, before feeding each piece into the fire, ensuring they burned totally and completely. After eating his breakfast, he took the remaining letter and headed towards the King's room, detouring through Lord Connington's room to discuss the disposal of his belongings. He'd taken nothing with him.

"Good morning, Tyrion," the King called out cheerfully, his own breakfast still before him. "Won't you join me?"

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He climbed into a chair, shaking his head at the servant who offered to bring him something.

"You look very serious," the King said, his own expression sobering.

Tyrion only sighed, and slid the letter across to him. Aegon picked it up, looking at the blank envelope curiously before opening it. There was only a single page, which he read quickly, then looked up at Tyrion, his expression stunned. "But, where did he go?" He looked at the back of the page, then lifted the envelope again, checking to see if there were something more inside.

"He'd mentioned that he wanted to return to Pentos," Tyrion said gently.

"I know he did, he'd said that he wanted to go back, but not until things here were settled," Aegon said, his expression lost. "He just left? He left me?" he asked softly.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty," Tyrion said helplessly. "I wish I knew…..I wish I had answers for you, but I don't." He knew that Jon Connington was right. He couldn't have the King hate him, and he would if he knew the truth. Tyrion wouldn't jeopardize his position, not after everything he'd gone through to get here. Let the boy hate his foster father instead. The man was dead, and wouldn't know.

"Oh." Aegon looked sadly down at the paper still in his hand, tears swimming in his beautiful purple eyes. Then took a deep breath. "I suppose this is why he told me a king can never rely too heavily on one person. I have to stand on my own."

Tyrion hated to see the boy look so lost and sad, but also knew that given Jon Connington's condition, this was for the best. "He hates politics."

The King nodded. "Yes, he does," he sighed. "I just wish…" He rose, walking to the window, then turning to face Tyrion again. "But how could he just _leave_ me!" he burst out, then walked quickly away. But not before Tyrion saw the tears on his face.

He found Sansa as she and Alinor were planning to leave for the day. He was happy that she'd recovered well from her stomach illness, and was up and about again. He stopped her, asking her to go speak to the King. He hated to do it, given how everyone knew the King felt about her, but someone had to tend to the boy.

Sansa left Alinor to see to the guests who were beginning to arrive, and went silently to the King's rooms, finding him sitting morosely on a small sofa before the fire. She sat next to him, and took his hand.

"How could he just leave me?" he asked brokenly. "And he didn't even have the decency to tell me to my face, just left a letter with Tyrion!" He swiped angrily at his tears. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"The same thing you've been doing," she said softly. "What he taught you to do. You're a King, Aegon. Even though he's gone, he taught you well."

He was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire as he held tightly to her hand. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing," he muttered. "He comes every morning and tells me what I'm doing for the day."

"I'm sure Tyrion will take care of it," she said soothingly.

"He told me to name Tyrion the new Hand. He said I can trust him."

"You can," Sansa assured him. "You know that you can."

"I knew he hated all of this, and that he wanted to go back to Pentos. But I didn't think I would wake up one morning and he'd be gone." He looked so lost. "How did you feel when your mother left you?" he asked.

Sansa was confused. "I don't know what you mean?"

"When you left coming here," he corrected himself. "And then, she went to your brother instead of coming here to you."

"Well, I was with my father, so it was a bit different," she said. "Although I cried terribly. But it was also exciting. I was betrothed to Jeoffrey, I thought I would be Queen. And then, when everything happened, it made sense for her to be with Robb. And Tyrion told me that when Robb captured Lord Jamie, the reason she released him was because he was supposed to rescue Arya and I. So she did try to get to us, in a way."

He nodded slowly. "He's always been the only family I've had," he said softly. "Griff and Young Griff. All of my life, he's been there. And now, he's just gone." Tears welled in his eyes again, and he wiped them away.

They sat silently for a long time, and finally he kissed the back of her hand. "Thank you, my queen. I'd best get dressed. Day waits for no one, and I'm sure I have plenty of things to do today."

She nodded as he rose, his eyes still damp. "I'll be in the Keep all day if you need me," she said. He gave her a watery smile as he walked away.

A week later, at Tyrion's suggestion, he rode with Sansa into the city to settle the weekly accounts. He hadn't been out of the Keep in the months since he'd arrived, and after his foster father's sudden disappearance had become morose and snappish. And Tyrion desperately needed a few hours to get his solar organized. Between his own books and papers, the ones he'd inherited from Jon Connington, and the cases of both he and Ned Stark's things, he could barely find room to walk. With Sansa occupying the King, he and Pod set to work at sorting and organizing it all. Even with the two of them, it would take hours to sort through it all, especially as everything had to be looked at to determine its importance.

It had snowed heavily the night before, but the morning sky showed patches of blue and the sun shone brightly through the clouds, although it was still bitterly cold. He wore a black fur hat and a deep violet cloak trimmed in the same black fur. His violet gloves were also trimmed in black. "You look especially handsome this morning, Your Majesty," Sansa smiled as he mounted. Although he looked a little pale, the black and violet accentuated his striking eyes, and the bits of pale blonde hair that escaped from his hat curled attractively.

His smile was sincere. "Thank you, Sansa. It's nice to be outside." He wasn't looking forward to the ball and all of the other engagements Sansa had arranged, although he understood the necessity of them. Sansa had told him that most of their guests had arrived, including his cousin Arianne Martell. Truthfully, she was the only one he was even interested in. Strengthening the relationship with Dorne had to be a priority, he knew, especially after his aunt had told him that Arianne's brother had been accidentally killed by one of her dragons when he'd come to make her a marriage contract. The only ones who hadn't responded were Euron Greyjoy and Stannis Baratheon. Aegon didn't know if Greyjoy had daughters, but he had to have a sister, a niece, _someone_. Baratheon had a daughter, although she was young and disfigured, from what he was told. Secretly, he was pleased she hadn't come, although if he married one of them perhaps he could end the final conflicts over the throne.

He was cheerful and gracious, smiling and waving, thanking all of the business people for their help, asking people if they were warm and if they'd eaten, and if they had somewhere to sleep. He praised the work of the foreman, who blushed deep red as Sansa and Alinor giggled, and held an in depth discussion with one of the stable owners about the merits of stallions as work horses. He ate cookies at each of the bakeries, and had seconds of the bowl of stew the innkeeper served them, complimenting her fresh bread, saying it was as good as he'd been served in the Keep. He passed gold dragons out to the children, and bought a blushing Alinor a gold and diamond bracelet that she'd admired in a jeweler's window as his thanks for all of her assistance in the city. He drank ale in a tavern while Sansa had her final fitting for her gowns, talking with the men there about the city, listening intently to their suggestions on things to improve and what needed work and which things were the most important.

Most of the day was gone when they returned to the Keep, laughing, her hand tucked firmly into his arm. Tyrion tried to suppress the stab of jealousy he felt when he saw them, both tall and young and attractive and obviously enjoying each other's company. "Well, it looks as if your day was a success," he forced himself to say with a smile.

"Yes, it was," the King grinned. "Our Lady of the Keep is as jewel, Tyrion." He kissed her cheek affectionately, and Sansa blushed.

"I'm pleased to be of assistance, Your Majesty," she smiled happily. "If you'll both excuse us, Alinor and I need to ensure that everything is ready for this evening's dinner." She curtsied to the King, smiled brightly to Tyrion and then was gone, leaving the King and Tyrion to discuss the residents of the city and the continuing work around Westeros before going to prepare themselves.

Aegon didn't want to attend, he wanted to meet each of the ladies individually first, but understood that to do so would cast favor upon the first he met, and insult upon the last. So he'd meet all of the ladies at once this evening, around a dinner table in the Queen's Ballroom. At least the food would be good, and Sansa and Tyrion would be there as well, along with a few of the other lords, including Lord Umber and Lord and Lady Tyrell – whom he was beginning to agree with Tyrion were no threat.

But he couldn't stop his wish that his foster father were there as well, especially for something as important as this. But he'd decided to leave, his own distaste for politics being more important to him. _Fine_ , Ageon thought almost angrily. _Fine, let him go. I'll do it all myself._


	14. Chapter 13

Arya's eyes snapped open as the dragon's roar faded. She sat up, instantly alert, noting the sun hadn't fully set yet. Not that she'd seen much of the actual sun since she'd left King's Landing. The days were deeply gray, the nights inky black. The only true light came from the streams of fire the dragons rained down.

When she'd finally arrived at Winterfell, after detouring to find her mother – and Gendry in the process, which was a pleasant surprise – she'd been shocked and saddened to see how badly damaged it was. But her mother had merely set her jaw and began overseeing the work, finding the steward that been sent up from White Harbor and taking charge of everything. She'd fought Arya about continuing up to the Wall, even after being told that the King had asked her to deliver a message to Jon. She only agreed when Gendry said he'd go with her, and even then reluctantly.

She'd continued her masquerade as Arry Snow, although she almost lost that too when Jon saw her in the courtyard. Well, when Nymeria and Ghost saw each other, and he'd come to see what the commotion was. When she'd spoken with he and the Queen – Dany, she'd insisted – they'd told her that they were planning to go into the forest with the dragons and drive the White Walkers back, and hopefully find the Children of the Forest. They'd been essential in defeating them the last time, according to history. So she and Gendry joined the expedition. Jon had been as skeptical as the rest of her family but gave in quickly, not wanting to argue with her. Although he did make her sword fight, so he could see how good she was. She wasn't the best, she knew, but she was good enough to beat Gendry, and one of the other two men Jon had her fight. "Two out of three," he'd nodded. "Alright. Good enough."

So for the last five weeks, they'd been fighting the White Walkers. She'd told herself that she wasn't afraid, but Dany relieved her of that notion rather quickly. "If you aren't afraid, you're a fool," she'd said bluntly. "We're all afraid." Even with the dragons, they'd had a substantial amount of losses. One of the men, Daren, carried a tall battle axe. After the first battle, he'd set about the gruesome task of chopping off the heads of all of their dead.

"So they don't walk again," he'd said grimly. After that they left him to it, even bringing their dead back to camp for him. It was a grisly task, but they all knew it had to be done.

Pushing to her feet, she found a quiet place against a tree to relieve herself, and then gathered her things and got them put away, and wandered towards the cookfire where Gendry grinned at her. She smiled in return.

"Hello Arry," Dany said pleasantly. "Did you sleep well?"

Arya shrugged. "As well as I could," she said. She'd found the Queen to be friendly and polite, and fierce in battle. That black dragon she rode shot fire with deadly aim and accuracy. "I'll be glad when I'm back in a bed."

"I fear that is a long ways off," Dany smiled softly.

Arya nodded, thanking Gendry as he handed her a bowl of hot soup. Dany suppressed a smile as she watched the two of them, the big muscular boy knight and the slight girl who was a highborn lady in disguise. She treated him with a casualness that was almost flippant, and he watched her with adoring eyes. She wondered how long it would take for them to make their way to each other. She couldn't wait to tell Sansa about it.

The weather seemed to grow even colder as their made their way northwest towards the tall Frostfang Mountains. Thankfully there was no wind but the snowfall was ever present, covering everything in more and more layers of icy white. Nymeria was their best scout, as she could scent the White Walkers and sound an alarm before they were seen. She was also their best hunter, bringing down deer and even an elk. They'd been a group of fifty – mostly Night's Watch men, but also a few wildings, a few of Lord Stannis' men, Dany and her ever present Meereen guards, and Gendry and Sansa – when they'd left and they'd already lost nine, with two others severely injured. "That's not bad," Merek grunted. "We've killed more 'o them than they have 'o us, thanks to the dragons." He and a few of the other men soaked arrowheads in fish fat and lit them afire, shooting the White Walkers with them. Fire was their best weapon, and the dragons provided plenty of it. Which was good, because the White Walkers didn't die easily.

Of course, the farther away from the Wall they got, the harder it was to find food. The supplies they'd brought with them were dwindling quickly. Even Nymeria couldn't find any meat for them. They found an old grove of tart apples and winter berries, and picked as many as they could, staying there for a few nights to rest and recover and allow their injured to heal.

"I'm worried," Dany said to Arry and Gendry one afternoon as they sat before the fire. The light was beginning to fade, and the camp was bustling with activity as everyone prepared. "We haven't seen them for three days. I know they're out there."

Arya nodded. "Nymeria smells them," she said. "But they're not attacking. What are they waiting for?"

"Reinforcements," Gendry said grimly. "We've gotten rid of a lot of 'em, so maybe they called for help."

Dany didn't want to admit that she thought the same thing. She shivered inside her heavy cloaks, wondering if she'd ever be warm again. Silly. She'd be warm as soon as she climbed onto Drogon's back. Sailing through the clouds with him she was warm, although she appreciated the cloaks to protect her from the wind.

The dragons had taken to landing around the outskirts of the camp during the days, and she worried that they were doing so because they were hungry. Everyone tended to stay away from them, of course, but still….she worried. She knew they'd been eating the dead – everyone did, although no one talked about it, with Daren still removing their heads as if their bodies were going to remain where they were – but still, she worried it wasn't enough. They hadn't seen much in the way of meat for the last two weeks. Any animal that was still alive was burrowed so deeply into the ground that even Nymeria couldn't dig it out. They'd flown ahead, so she hoped that perhaps they'd found something to eat there, but the fact that every day they landed at the edge of the camp to sleep didn't reassure her. Although the heat they radiated was a help in keeping the injured warm.

As the sun set they picked up swords and lit torches. The archers ensured their quivers were full, the arrowheads drenched in fatty oil. But nothing happened. Usually, as soon as the sun was out of sight the White Walkers would flood out of the surrounding forest but for the fourth night in a row, nothing happened.

"What are they waiting for?" Merek growled.

"Gendry," Arya said quietly. "I'm going to take a nap. Watch my back and wake me if something happens."

"What?" he said, startled.

"Shhhhh!" Arya hissed. "I'm going to sleep. When I sleep, I can see what Nymeria sees. And don't tell anyone about that," she said sharply. "But I need to see what's going on out there. The Queen isn't seeing anything from her dragon's back, but Nymeria is closer to the ground."

He stared at her, then nodded skeptically. She sat on the ground against a wide tree trunk, wrapping her cloak tightly around herself, and pulling her hood down low. Gendry sat at her feet, watching their surroundings warily. Nymeria, seeing her, rose and loped into the forest.

 _Cold._ Nymeria sniffed the air, turning her head from side to side, trying to catch a scent of something other than the men and the dragons. There was blood in the camp, the blood of men who were injured. She tried to stay away from it, it only reminded her of how hungry she was. But she smelled nothing but cold. Except…there. She knew that scent. She moved towards it, running lightly over the ice and snow. She could scent the dead things, beneath the snow, but they weren't moving. Just there. She ran on, running for miles through the trees, the ground lifting and raising as she reached the base of the tall mountains. _There._ She howled loudly, and the answering call was close, so very close. She ran, faster, slipping and skidding on the frozen ground, howling and listening, running and howling and listening until she was there and he was there and they jumped together, licking each other, rolling in the ice and snow together. She whimpered and he responded, and they stayed together for a long time before turning to return to her pack of humans. They both smelled the dead things, but they weren't moving, just there beneath the snow. And it wasn't as many as before. The sky was beginning to lighten when they walked into the camp.

"Looks like Nymeria found a playmate," Merek grunted with a soft smile. Gendy looked back at Arya, who was awake, watching the two dire wolves with an expression of something like wonder. Slowly, she held out her hand, and the second gray wolf came slowly towards her, sniffing her gently, then nuzzling her hand.

"What did you see?" Gendry asked hesitantly. Quietly.

Arya glanced around as both of the wolves sat beside her. "They're out there, beneath the snow. They're just not moving. But…." She looked at the second wolf sitting beside her. "This is my little brother's wolf," she said slowly, running her hand through his thick fur. She was quiet for a minute, then looked at Gendy. "Want to go scout with me?"

He nodded and they rose, saddling their horses and ambling out of camp. "Don't go too far," Daren called as they passed him. "Last thing we need to have to try to find you two."

"We won't," Gendry assured him, although he had no idea of where they were going, and he had to wonder if Arya did.

They rode silently for almost an hour, the snow falling harder and harder as they followed the two silent wolves. Just as Gendry was about to suggest they head back, Arya stopped at the edge of a clearing. Before them the mountain rose steeply before them, the trees thinning.

"Up there," Arya said, dismounting.

"Up where?" Gendry asked, following her.

"There's a cave," she pointed. "There. See that fire? Someone is waiting for us." She tied Stubborn to a low branch and began the climb.

Gendry squinted into the falling snow. "I don't see nothing," he grumbled, but followed her anyway. He'd promised to keep her safe. Of course, she hadn't promised to keep _him_ safe. "Are you sure you see something?" he asked.

"Yes," she snapped.

A light wind began to blow, filling the air with the fine white powder of freshly fallen snow in addition to the icy cold falling flakes. The snow was so deep here that he could barely get through it, and he could only see the top of Arry's fur lined cloak. "Are you alright?" he called.

"Yes," she replied, but she was panting, he could tell. The ground was getting steeper, and they were clinging to trees to keep from tumbling backwards. Ice cracked beneath their feet as the struggled up the steep incline. In the swirling snow, he saw it. A fire.

His lungs were close to exploding from the cold when they finally made it up to the ledge. A cave. It was a cave. Arya walked inside without thought, pushing her hood back from her face, before Gentry could say a word to stop her. Pulling his sword, he strode in behind her, uncertain of what they would be facing but certainly not expecting the slim, brown haired girl who stood before them, smiling, a flaming torch in her hand.

"Hello, Lady Arya," she said. "Ser." She inclined her head towards Gentry.

"Who are you?" Arya asked suspiciously, pulling her own sword and tossing her cloak over her shoulder. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm Meera of House Reed," she said. "And your brother told me you were coming. I suppose Summer told him," she shrugged, smiling down and the wolves. "And this is your wolf. Nymeria. A pleasure to meet you, my lady," she inclined her head to Nymeria, who sat at her feet.

"How did you get here, Meera of House Reed?" Gendry asked suspiciously.

"My brother and I brought Lord Bran here," she said. "He's waiting for you."

"Why would you bring Bran here?" Arya asked.

"Because this is where the three-eyed crow is," she said patiently, as if it made perfect sense.

"The _what_?" Arya said.

"The greenseer," Meera smiled. "It's easier to show you than to tell you, my lady," she said.

"Well you might want to get explaining, because I'm not going anywhere until you make sense," Arya snapped impatiently. Then she stiffened, listening, her eyes searching the cave. "Who said that?" she said suspiciously.

Before Gendry could respond, Meera shrugged again. "I would assume Bran, as no one but you heard it."

Arya spun around to Gendry. "Didn't you hear that?" she demanded. "Someone said my name."

Gendry kept his eyes on Meera, but he shook his head.

"Look," Meera said. "You were wise to come in the morning, while the wights are still. But the longer we stay in here, the higher the chance that you'll have to stay the night. I can't bring your horses in which means you'll lose them. So we should start moving."

 _Arya, come._ It sounded like the wind, soft and whispered. "Fine," she said shortly. "Lead the way."

A long while later they left the caves, with Meera and her brother, Jojen, coming with them. The boy was frail and weak and sickly, with eyes that darted everywhere nervously. "Don't worry," Arya assured him. "We still have a few hours at least before the sun sets. We'll make it back in plenty of time." Gendry helped him up onto Stubborn and he clung to Arya's waist, while Meera rode in front of Gendry. They also had a good sized bag of root vegetables, and a few small rabbits that Meera carried awkwardly. Hodor had smiled when he'd brought it to them, then waved goodbye sadly at the mouth of the cave. Bran still needed the big man to be his legs, and so he'd stay.

When they rode into camp they caused a small commotion, bringing people with them, and of course the food. But all of it was quickly put aside as the sun was setting, and Jojen announced firmly that the wights would rise that night. "I don't know why they've been still," he told them. "But I saw it in my dreams. And my dreams are never wrong." His voice held a sadness that Arya couldn't understand but she didn't have time to think about it. Nymeria growled a warning and then they were there, swarming the camp and she was pulling Needle free as Meera guided her brother to a safe place before jumping into the fray herself.

It was hours later when Arya ducked into a nearby cave, pressing herself against the icy stone wall, holding her breath. After long moments, she released it and slid to the floor, breathing heavily. Outside, the sound of battle were beginning to fade, with dragons roaring and spitting streams of fire on the few resilient White Walkers left. But there were fewer now than there'd ever. They were taking heavy losses, but so were the White Walkers. Every battle there were fewer and fewer of them. There'd only been a handful tonight.

Arya pushed to her feet at the sound of someone coming through the dry brush. Whoever it was, they were making no attempt to hide their approach, which lead her to believe it wasn't a White Walker, who were eerily silent.

Daren stumbled into the cave, taking a few shuffling steps before falling. He groaned and pushed himself onto his back as Arya knelt beside him. One look at the pulsing wound at his side told her there was nothing she could do for him.

"Girl," he gasped thickly, as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Daren, it's me, Arry," she said softly.

"I know who you are," he wheezed. "Girl. A Stark, from the size of that monsterous wolf of yours." He coughed, and blood poured from his side and bubbled from his lips. He pushed his battle axe towards her. "Find that boy of yours and have him chop off my head. He'll have to do it, from now on," he gasped.

"I can do it," Arya said, resigned. Gendry wouldn't have the stomach for it, she knew.

He smiled a little, his breaths coming in thick, wet, rattles. He didn't have long, she knew. "I don't…..doubt…you could," he said huffed softly, every word visibly an effort. "Only…that you can…..even….lift….the….thing…..it's…heavy…..as….you….." his voice died away, his eyes beginning to flutter closed.

"I'll manage," she promised him. "I won't let you walk again." She turned when she heard a sound, reaching for Needle and standing. When she looked down again, he was still. Resigned, she sheathed Needle and reached for the big axe. He wasn't wrong, she thought. It was at least as heavy as she was. But she managed to lift it, although it brought itself down, clumsily. It took longer than she'd wanted, and was sloppily done. By the time she'd finished, the battle sounds had subsided, and she thought she could see the edge of dawn lightening the far sky.

She jumped when someone stumbled into the cave, dropping the axe and reaching for Needle before she realized it was Dany.

"Oh, there you are," she said breathlessly. "We've been looking for you. Oh," she said when she saw Daren, and what Arya had done.

"I promised him I wouldn't let him walk again," Arya said softly.

Dany nodded, her expression sorrowful. "It was the right thing to do." She couldn't imagine how hard it must have been, it was a gruesome task. "The battle is over. I think we actually got them all this time."

"Where are your guards?" Arya asked. It was strange to see her without at least one of the Meereese soldiers behind her.

Dany shrugged sadly. "I think I've lost them all," she said. "I know that one of them is still alive, but he was badly injured."

Arya nodded slowly, thinking back to the last words Bran had said to her before she'd left. _You'll do it. It's no more than you have done, no more than you will do. It will set great things into motion. Don't worry about it, it will all work out. The King's Justice is yours._ She'd wondered at that, since she'd already killed Ser Ilyn, but Hodor had walked away, her brother on his back, his useless legs dangling at Hodors sides. She stared at the back of the beautiful blonde woman before her. She'd come to like her, even though she was good friends with Sansa.

Dany moved towards the mouth of the cave, watching Viserion flying north against the thick gray clouds. Like Arya, she could see dawn beginning to brighten the sky. "Hopefully, this is the last of these White Walkers," she said, as she wondered where Drogon and Rhaegal were. "But I still wonder if we should continue North," she said thoughtfully. "They had to come from somewhere. Perhaps we should try to seek out their home. If we could end them completely, it would be worth it." She turned in time to see Arya bringing her sword down forcefully. Gasping, she threw herself to the side, and the sword struck her in the shoulder.

"Sorry," Arya said. "I actually like you. But a deal's a deal." Before Dany could respond, Arya pulled Needle free.

"Arya, wait," she gasped, panicked. But Arya didn't, and Needle struck true. Dany crumpled silently as in the distance, the dragons roared as one.

Grabbing her by the arm, Arya pulled her back into the cave and then eyed the battle axe wearily. But there was no other choice, so she took a deep breath and hefted it up onto her shoulder, staggering a bit at the weight, and got to work.

The dragons roars grew increasingly closer and she eyed the mouth of the cave nervously. Just as she finished, she felt the ground shudder and knew one of them – the big black one, she was certain – had landed nearby. She lifted the axe onto her shoulder, and grabbed a handful of pale blonde hair, moving as fast as she could towards the back of the cave, where she could hear water running. She rounded the corner and skidded to a stop beneath the starry night sky, at the edge of an unexpected waterfall and the rushing stream of water that traveled only a few feet and then tumbled down the side of the mountain. But the cave behind her shuddered at the roar and she felt the heat of the fire and staggered forward, spashing through the knee deep icy water, slipping and skidding on the icy floor and the strong current that tried to push her over the edge along with it. It wasn't all that wide but given how off balance she was from the axe she was soaked by the time she reached the other side, panting and shivering. She couldn't wait, she was out in the open and one of those creatures was bound to fly overhead and see her holding their mother's head. She stopped, considering, and then tossed it into the rushing water, watching as it bobbed along with the water before falling over the edge of the cliff to tumble a hundred feet into the river below. By then she'd turned away and was walking as fast as the additional weight would allow, edging back into another cave and continuing on, hoping it would lead her back to somewhere she was familiar with.

The sun was fully risen by the time she staggered into their camp. Gendry came immediately towards her, taking the axe. She dropped exhaustedly before the fire. She was shivering and sniffling, bone weary, and her feet had gone numb.

"Thought we'd lost you," Merek said with a yawn, passing her a cup that was more water than tea. But it was hot and she sipped it gratefully.

"I ran into a cave and got turned around," she said, stifling her own yawn. "I found Daren and removed his head. Where are the others?" she asked. "I'll have to – " she stopped suddenly when she saw Dany's head, encased in a layer of ice. "What the hell is _that_ doing here?" she breathed.

"Found it floating in the river," one of the men said sorrowfully. "Daren must have got to her before you got to him."

"But why is it _here_? And where are the dragons?" she eyed the sky nervously.

Merek shrugged. "They all flew away, headin south. Guess they're goin home. We should probably follow. These was the last of 'em."

Arya still stared at the head distastefully. "The last thing she said to me is that we need to continue North. They had to come from somewhere, and we need to find their home and wipe them out for good."

"Without the dragons, I don't think we can," Gendry shrugged. "We're almost out of food, and we're down to only fifteen, not counting the eight wounded. We need to head back. If there are more, they'll think twice about returning."

"I agree," Merek said. "Most of us do. We didn't leave any standing last night. If there are more, it will take them some time to regroup."

"There are more," Meera said quietly. Arya turned at the sound. She hadn't realized the girl was there, but she was, kneeling over the limp and still body of her brother. His face and right side were badly burned. "This is their home. The Children of the Forest created them here, and then lost control of them. They scatter but always return. There are more and they'll be back." She rose, wiping her eyes. "I agree with the others, my lady. We need to head back. Without the dragons, we can't defeat them."

Arya winced at the 'my lady' but no one else seemed to notice. Or perhaps, like Deren, they all realized. But no one mentioned it as they quickly broke down their small camp, and Merek took the job of beheading the dead. She convinced them to leave Dany's head behind. "But she's a Queen," one of the men protested. "Shouldn't we take it back?"

"I think fifteen of us saying we saw it is proof enough," Arya said firmly, especially since her one living guard had seen it, as well.

Arya was asleep on her horse but they headed south. She knew that they were right. They were down to eating the horses of the dead – which was disgusting – and they'd killed all of the White Walkers they'd encountered. But she wasn't convinced that they wouldn't regroup and return, and she intended to tell Jon that.


	15. Chapter 14

Sansa stared in awe at the tiny baby nursing at her breast. She still couldn't believe it. She and Tyrion had a baby, a little boy they'd named Eddard Jaymes Lannister. Ned. He definitely looked like a Lannister, with his hair already shining gold like his father's, and his eyes a perfect green. Tyrion said he looked like Jaime, for which he was grateful. Sansa thought privately that little Ned looked like his father but she knew that no matter how well he hid it, his appearance was a sore spot for him. He'd be hurt and disappointed if she said anything, thinking she was mocking him. She'd realized long ago that he and his brother shared the same shape eyes, and nose. Even their ears. But like most people, Tyrion couldn't see past his deformity to realize how much alike he and Jaime looked. So she didn't mention it.

She glanced up at her husband as she adjusted her gown and lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting his back softly. "Is he done?" Tyrion smiled, putting down his book.

She nodded, yawning and grinning as the baby emitted a loud burp. "Here, I'll take him," Tyrion said, coming to the side of the bed. "Get some sleep."

Sansa gratefully passed the baby to him, yawning again as she slid down beneath the thick blankets. "I'll just sleep for a little while," she said as she closed her eyes.

"Of course," Tyrion murmured, smiling. Before he and Ned reached the door, she could hear her soft snores.

He settled on the sofa in his solar, the baby sleeping beside him as he sipped from his cup of wine, his gaze once again on the book before him. There had to be something here about…

"Excuse me, my lord." Tyrion looked up to the servant standing in the doorway. "Lord Varys is here to see you."

Tyrion nodded, his eyes dropping to the book again. "Send him in."

Varys swept into the room, gasping in delight when he realized the baby was there. "Oh! He's such a handsome boy," he smiled broadly. "He looks like Ser Jaime."

"Yes, he does, thank the gods," Tyion grinned. "Have a seat, my friend," he gestured Varys to a chair beside the sofa. "Wine?"

"No thank you, my lord. I just wanted to let you know that I've heard Lady Arya is almost back to Kings Landing."

"Well, I know Sansa will be pleased to hear that," Tyrion smiled. They'd heard nothing from her for months, since she'd written that she'd delivered the King's message to The Wall, and of the death of Queen Danerys in a battle with the White Walkers. She planned to escort Shireen Baratheon to Winterfell after the untimely death of her mother of some kind of respiratory illness, and after that she planned to try to find Lord Stannis to inform him of his wife's death and tell him where his daughter was, then return to King's Landing.

"It will be interesting to hear of where she's been," Vary said casually.

"Yes it will," Tyrion agreed. "And I'm sure the King will want to speak to her at length about the North and what she saw there. Speaking of the North, have you heard any more about Lord Stannis?"

Varys smiled coyly. "That was my next topic, my lord. It seems that after disbanding his army he headed to Winterfell to retrieve Lady Shireen. Unfortunately, it seems he died there. Some type of stomach ailment. His men are escorting young Lady Baratheon to her mother's family."

"It still seems strange to me that he suddenly released his army and gave up his quest for the throne," Tyrion said with a small frown. He couldn't help but be relieved that the man was dead, mysterious though it may be.

Varys nodded. "He never truly wanted to be King," he shrugged. "He simply felt that it was his right."

Tyrion nodded slowly. "Speaking of the King," he said carefully. "I've been going through some of Jon Arryn and Ned Stark's papers and books, trying to get everything organized."

"You've done quite the job," Varys said, impressed as he looking around the neat solar. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, filled with more books and stacks of papers than he'd ever seen outside of a formal library. A ladder on wheels leaned against one of the shelves, waiting for its owner to mount it and pull away a thick tome.

"Thank you, it's taken Pod and I months to get it all sorted and organized. But in the sorting I realized something."

"Oh?"

"It seems that Jon Snow, Queen Danerys, and our King were all born the same year. The year of Robert's Rebellion."

Vary's gaze turned stoney, although his smile was polite. "Oh?"

"Yes," Tyrion said firmly. "And yet, both the Stark boy and the dearly departed Queen are just past three and twenty. While our King is barely turned ten and nine."

"I'm sure Lord Connington lied to everyone about the King's age, including the King himself," Varys tittered. "A safety measure, surely."

"Perhaps I should mention to our King that he needs to adjust his age accordingly," Tyrion smiled gently. "Before others realize the same thing that I have."

"Oh yes, you should, my lord," Varys said firmly. "He wouldn't know, and since Lord Connington's disappearance, there's no one to tell him but you."

Tyrion nodded. "I'll make sure to do so at our next meeting. Interesting as well that the innkeeper who traded his son for a cask of wine hasn't been shouting all over King's Landing that he's the reason he King is alive."

"That's because he died, many years ago." Varys' ever present feather fan waved gently before his face.

"Oh? And you're sure? Or do walls have ears?"

"Certain, my lord." Varys voice, usually so light and sweet, was hard and cold. "Absolutely certain."

Listening to him, Tyrion was certain of the man's cause of death. But he only nodded. "Good."

"I've also heard from our friend in Pentos," Varys smiled now. "It seems our guests have decided to travel a bit. They're on their way to Bravos now."

"Really? Well, a little travel may be good for them. I hope all else is well?"

"Oh yes, all appears to be fine."

"Have you any word from Meereen?"

Varys nodded, his face sorrowful. "Nothing good. If what I'm hearing is correct, Ser Barriston and the head of Queen Danerys army have both been killed by order of the King. He's ruling with a very loose hand, especially when it comes to reinstating slavery, which everyone knows he's not opposed to. Hopefully, Lady Margeary will return any day now, and can give us more firsthand information."

"The weather's been mild, so hopefully they'll have an easy crossing," Tyrion said, glancing out of the tall window. Although it was still bitterly cold the sun shone brightly, and there was less and less snow on the ground every day. Winter was easing, thankfully. It had been almost three years. "I know she'll be pleased to return home to Highgarden, and to see her parents at Whitegrove." He'd convinced the King to give the smaller estate to the Tyrell's, as they'd proven themselves loyal. Besides, only one of Margeary's brother's had lived, the lame one. He'd find a nice, quiet wife and settle down, Tyrion was sure. He was happy to facilitate such, if needed. The thought of Shireen Baratheon whispered through his mind. Hmmmm. That might not be a bad idea. They were both disfigured…..and getting the girl away from her mother's family wouldn't be a bad idea. He couldn't believe that the remnants of House Florent wouldn't try to use the girl as a pawn to gain political power, claiming her to be the rightful heir to the throne after her father's death. He pushed the thought to the side as Varys rose.

"Well, should I hear anything else, I will inform you," he smiled. "I'll leave you and your son to enjoy your afternoon."

"Thank you, my friend," Tyrion grinned again at the mention of his son.

"Oh, by the way," Varys stopped before he reached the door, his eyes sparkling with laughter as he looked back at Tyrion. "You've a new name in the city, my lord."

"Really? What new insult have the people hurled at me this week?" Tyrion almost didn't want to hear it. As the only living Lannister he often bore the brunt of the people's hatred of Cercei, although many men remembered how he'd fought with them at the Battle of the Blackwater. His obvious affection for Sansa had softened some people's perceptions as well. But still…

"Apparently, you're now known as The Bloody Hand," Varys giggled. "Word has come back of the battles in the Iron Islands, and how no one named Greyjoy was left alive by your order. And I'm told it isn't considered an insult. They say it as a compliment. You've put down the last of the war, my lord. It's truly over now. The people are celebrating."

Tyrion smiled widely. "Well now, that's a pleasant surprise."

"Indeed it is," Varys agreed, turning to leave. Almost immediately, Alinor rushed in, curtseying quickly.

"Excuse me, my lord, but the King is here. He insisted on seeing my lady. I told him that she was sleeping, but he went into the room, alone. He told me to leave, and his guards are at the door."

Before she'd finished speaking, Tyrion had slid off of the couch. "Stay with the baby," he ordered, hurrying from the room.

"Yes, my lord," Alinor said, dropping down onto the sofa and smiling softly as she lifted the tiny white wrapped bundle into her arms. "I knew he wouldn't give up easily," she sighed to the sleeping baby.

Aegon poked and pushed at the fire until it burned cheerfully again, then gently set down the poker and dropped silently into the chair that he moved to beside Sansa's bed. His Queen was somewhere in the Keep, her waist thickening with their first child. She was so sweet and beautiful. Even in her grief at the news of her father's death, she'd remained kind and gracious. Everyone loved Queen Jorra, including her King. She was everything he would want in a Queen. His eyes drifted to Sansa's face.

Perhaps not _everything._

In her sleep, Sansa moved restlessly, turning to her side, facing him. Her full breasts threatened to spill from the top of the pale blue gown she wore and Aegon's eyes settled there, thinking of how much he missed sparring with Sansa, both with swords and with words. She was one of the most intelligent women he knew and he'd hoped…he tore his eyes away. It didn't make sense to hope for what would never be. She was married – happily – to Tyrion, who was not only his most trusted advisor, but a friend. And he was married to a woman who was gentle and kind, and soothed his spirit every time he was with her. He'd come to love her, truly he did. Was it wrong for him to still wish for more? For a woman he could talk to, and laugh with, and trust to handle things of a more delicate nature? Tyrion regularly assigned Sansa tasks to complete on their behalf, he knew. She was well respected in the city, this Lady of the Keep. Everyone trusted her and loved her, including him. But her husband ensured that they spent no time together.

His eyes lifted as the door opened. "Your Majesty," Tyrion said, surprise on his face, closing the door softly behind him. "I didn't expect to find you here." Tyrion's eyes drifted to his sleeping wife, noticing even from the door the swell of her full breasts above her gown, and his brow rose. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked quietly, coming towards him.

Damned Alinor, she must have run straight to Tyrion. Aegon forced a smile and rose. "No, I just wanted a moment alone to think," he said, keeping his own voice quiet as well, so as not to wake Sansa. "I'd hoped to talk to Sansa, but…." He gestured.

Tyrion nodded. "Yes, she's still recovering from the birth, and tires easily." He stepped back, gesturing towards the door. "I'm glad to find you, actually. Varys just brought me a report, and we need to discuss a few things."

Argon nodded. "Alright, but it will have to be later, we're due to meet with Lord Jast soon." He opened the bedroom door.

"I'll meet you there," Tyrion smiled. "I just need to get something." The King nodded and Tyrion closed the door, turning to see Sansa pushing up onto her elbows. "I'm so sorry love, I was trying not to wake you."

"You didn't," she assured him. "I've been awake for a few minutes but I didn't want to open my eyes. Why was he here?" she asked.

"Because he's in love with you," Tyrion sighed, climbing up to sit beside her on the bed.

Sansa looked at him in dismay. "I would have thought he'd be over it by now, it's been well over a year."

"I'd hoped," Tyrion said wryly. "But no. This is something we're going to have to learn to live with, apparently."

"No, it's something _he's_ going to have to learn to live with," Sansa said firmly, wrapping her arms around her husband and pulling him close to her. "We're happy, and we're going to stay that way."

"Yes we are," Tyrion grinned, leaning up to kiss her softly. "How much longer did the midwife say?" he whispered against her lips.

Sansa laughed. "We've weeks and weeks yet, Tyrie! Ned is barely a week old!"

Tyrion sighed. "You're right, of course," he said, forcing himself away from her lips. "Varys told me that Arya is almost back to the city. She should be here any day now."

Sansa was visibly relieved. "Oh good," she said. "I've been so worried. I wish she would stay here."

Tyrion smiled. "I know love, but Arya is headstrong, to say the least. She will do as she wants. And in the interest of at least keeping in touch with her, we should probably let her." 

"Tyrie, she needs a husband," Sansa said firmly. "Someone older, who can settle her down." She'd been thinking about it. "One of the Northern lords, I think, so she'd be closer to home."

"That's the last thing she needs," Tyrion laughed. "First, you wouldn't be able to convince her to even show up for the ceremony, and she definitely wouldn't say the words. And she'd make that man's life a living hell. No, love. One day, when she's ready. One day, she'll meet a man who's a match for her, and who will settle her down. And we'll wed her to him, as quickly as possible. Anything before that would be as effective as beating your head against a wall."

She didn't want to think that he was right. "I just can't be comfortable with her roaming about Westeros all alone. For all that she pretends, she's a girl. And soon she'll be a woman. I need to spend some time with her." The thought was depressing. She and her sister had nothing in common, and the thought of trying to talk to her about her first flowering and sex and moon tea made her stomach churn. _I've worn armor and marched in battle. I've turned the tide of a war. I can manage Arya. I hope._

When Arya finally walked into the room a few days later, Sansa grew even less certain. Arya had changed in the almost year she'd been gone, and although could easily identify some of the changes – her height, and the soft swell of breasts and hips that she tried to hide beneath loose clothing – there was something else, as well. A confidence that hadn't been there before. And as usual, she refused to allow Sansa, Tyrion, or even the King to tell her what to do. "I've managed this far just fine," she said stubbornly. "Now do you want to sit here and fight, or do you want to hear about how brave Dany was?"

Sansa sighed, her eyes watering a bit at the thought of her friend. She'd missed Dany, and had been heartbroken when Arya had written that she'd died. She shook her head. "No, I don't, actually. It will only make me cry. But….where is Messendei? And her guards?"

Arya shrugged. "Guards are all dead, except one," she said. "He and Messendei left. Going home, I suppose."

"I hope not," Sansa sighed. "Tyrie has said that things are very bad in Meereen since word got back to them that Dany died. Have you seen the dragons?"

Arya nodded. "They're still up near the wall. For some reason, they all love Jon." She shuddered lightly. "Ugly beasts, I hate those things."

Tyrion smothered his smile as he came into the room, hearing the last of Arya's conversation. "Ugly? Interesting. I found them quite beautiful. And I would think the dragons would want to return to warmer climates," he said. "How are you, little sister?"

"Fine and you, big brother?" she asked mockingly.

Tyrion only smiled. "Well, thank you. Have you seen your nephew?"

Arya nodded, smiling in spite of herself. "He looks like Ser Jamie."

"Yes, he does, thank the gods. Hello love," he smiled to Sansa with obvious affection. She leaned to kiss him. "I haven't seen you in hours." He took her hand. 

Sansa grinned. "You're such a busy and important man," she teased. "I wouldn't want to bother you."

"Oh please, bother me all you want," he grinned. But he looked to Arya. "I know the King wants to speak with you about all you've seen on your travels. He has a few moments now, if you don't mind?"

Arya sighed, then rose. "Fine."

"I'll see you later, love." He kissed Sansa again as Arya made a face behind his back.

The King was on the sofa in his sitting room, staring into the fire when Arya and Tyrion arrived. "Ah, Lady Arya," he smiled. "Welcome home. How was your trip?" He gestured for her to sit beside him as Tyrion climbed into the chair beside the sofa.

Arya shrugged. "Cold and hungry," she said flatly, dropping unceremoniously onto the sofa. "People are starving. You need to be sending the food farther north."

He nodded solemnly. "Yes, I have several ships that are trying to get into White Harbor, but the bay is completely iced over, as I'm sure you know. We're doing the best we can."

"It's not good enough. People are dying."

"I'm well aware," he sighed. "Speaking of dying, what happened to Stannis Baratheon?"

Arya shrugged. "I dunno, I wasn't there. Some sort of stomach problem."

He waited. "And that's all?"

"I wasn't there."

"Did your mother say anything about him?" Tyrion asked.

Arya shook her head. "I haven't seen her since I left Shireen at Winterfell." She sighed. "But I heard a lot of talk that some of the northern lords poisoned him. Lord Manderly is certain that Lord Karstark had something to do with it."

The King nodded slowly. "And what of his lady wife?"

"Some sort of respiratory illness," Arya said. "She was dead when we came back from the ranging."

"And the girl?"

Arya shrugged. "A mouse. Terrified of her own shadow. Ugly, and knows it. All she wants is to disappear into a hole and never be seen again."

"So no interest in her father's crown?" Tyrion asked.

Arya shook her head. "I don't think the thought's even occurred to her," she said honestly. "She's not the type."

"What did you think of Stannis?" the King asked curiously.

"Joyless. Stoic. Responsible." Arya shrugged. "Dutiful. That maybe the best description of him. He didn't want to be King, he just felt it was his duty. He was the type for whom duty was the ultimate honor. It was his duty to marry and father a child. It was his duty to serve as Lord of Dragonstone with honor and integrity even though he hated the place, and felt King Robert insulted him by the giving of it. And it was his duty, as King Robert's heir, to assume the throne and serve the Seven Kingdom's to the best of his ability."

He nodded again. "Tell me about these White Walkers."

Tyrion felt a strong thrum of dread when a flash of real fear swept across Arya's face. "We got rid of a lot of them," she said, finally. "But I told Jon and I'll tell you, they're not done. They'll be back. The dragons were our best weapons against them, and they stayed at the wall. I don't know if they'll respond to Jon's commands the way they did Dany's, but they attack those things on sight, so hopefully." She shrugged again.

"And the lovely Queen?" the King asked softly.

"Dead."

"You're certain?"

Arya nodded. "I saw her body. She's dead, and her head was separated from her body, just like all of the other dead, to ensure they didn't rise again. Trust me. She's dead."

"So the White Walkers are real," the King mused thoughtfully.

"Real and dangerous," Arya said firmly. "Jon needs more help up at The Wall. We didn't destroy them, they'll be back. We just pushed them back a little. And they need food, he's got to keep his men fed if they're going to win."

Both men nodded. "What about White Harbor?" Tyrion asked. "Hear anything interesting there?"

Her grin was sudden, and transformed her face from a teenaged boy into a stunning young woman. "Heard a lot about The Bloody Hand."

The King laughed as Tyrion grunted, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, I've heard a bit about that as well."

"The people love you," she said seriously. "They adore you because you've finally ended this bloody war. And with Lord Stannis dead, too? They're thrilled. Now we just need this blasted winter to end."

Tyrion sighed. "If history holds true, winter won't end until the White Walkers are defeated. The last time it took an entire generation. People died by the thousands, food was non existant."

"Well, we pushed them back, but I don't know for how long." And she hoped with everything within her that the King didn't ask her to go back to The Wall.

"That would align with history as well," the King said. "The cold is lifting some, perhaps because you pushed them back." He smiled. "I'm grateful for all of your assistance, Lady Arya."

She shrugged. "It was in my best interest to help."

"It still is," Tyrion said with a smile.

"I've another favor to ask, if you're willing, Lady Justice," the King began.

Arya groaned. "In the north?"

"No," the King smiled. "In Dorne, actually, it's warm there. I need to send a message to my uncle, and I don't want to send it by conventional means."

Relieved, Arya nodded. "As long as it's not somewhere buried in snow. Wait," she frowned, realizing what he'd called her. "Lady Justice?"

"Yes, if you'd like," Tyrion said. "The King's Justice position is open, Ser Ilyn has disappeared. It would ensure you a salary and your own quarters here in the Keep, along with a small staff. And we'd of course cover all of your expenses."

Arya smiled consideringly. As King's Justice, she'd be able to come and go as she pleased, and she wouldn't have to worry about how she'd pay for anything. "Would I have to take the white?"

"I would prefer you didn't," the King said firmly. "Your greatest advantage is that you are a highborn lady, headstrong and inclined to do as you please, to the obvious chagrin of your sister and brother by marriage. No one will suspect you of being anything more."

"Take some time and think about it," Tyrion said before she could speak. "I know that you value your freedom, and with this position you'll be free to come and go _until_ the King calls you. You'll be tied here."

"I'm tied here anyway," she said on a sigh. "You and Sansa are here." For all she groused and complained, she was pleased to know that her sister was alive and well. And her nephew was a handsome little fellow. "And next year, when he's ready, I'll go get Rickon and bring him here, too."

"I might want you to take him to Winterfell first, if it's alright with you, Your Majesty," Tyrion said. "So he can spend some time with your mother." The report from Lord Manderly bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Catlyn Stark was many things, but devoted mother had always been high on the list.

"She's not there," Arya shrugged. "She left after Lord Stannis' guards took Shireen to her grandparents. She left me a note that said Winterfell isn't her home anymore. She's not sure where is, but she's going to Riverrun with Uncle Edmure and maybe stay there awhile." Arya was certain she wouldn't see her again. Tyrion only nodded sadly.

When the tedious meeting was finally over Arya went back to see Sansa, to ask if she wanted to go with her into the city. She was certain the answer was no, but thought she'd ask anyway. Sansa was sitting at her desk, going through a stack of letters, the baby sleeping in a basket beside her. "Arya," she smiled. "I didn't expect to see you again today."

Arya stared down at the impossibly tiny baby. "I need to go into the city, I need new boots and a few other things. I wanted to see if you'd come with me."

Sansa's smile widened in surprise. "I'd love to, but," she gestured to the baby.

Arya nodded. "I didn't think you would. I just wanted to ask." She wandered from the baby's side to drop onto the sofa, her legs sprawled in front of her.

Sansa studied her. "How was your meeting with the King?"

"Fine."

The silence was heavy and awkward. "Is something bothering you?" Sansa asked hesitantly.

Arya pushed to her feet, moving to stand in front of the bookshelf, her fingers running lightly over the spines. "It's Gendry," she said finally.

Sansa frowned. "The knight Mother sent with you to The Wall?"

Arya nodded.

"Oh. Did he come here with you, as well?"

Arya nodded.

"Oh." Sansa waited, but Arya didn't speak, or even move. "Is there something wrong with him?" she asked tentatively.

"No. Yes. No." Arya huffed in frustration, moving to drop on the sofa again. "He looks at me like I'm a girl," she mumbled, frowning at her feet.

Sansa bit back her smile. "Arya, you _are_ a girl."

Arya glared at her as Sansa smiled. "I know that it would be much easier for you to roam about the countryside if you were a boy, but you're not. And soon your body will betray you. I'm sure you'd love to never develop breasts and have your first flowering, but they're going to happen and at your age, they'll happen soon."

"I know," Arya grumbled. "I just…." She jumped up again, pacing the room restlessly. "You're such a _girl_ ," she spat. "All you've ever wanted was to be a _lady_. Well, I don't. Haven't you ever just wanted to make your own choices?" she asked earnestly. "To make your own decisions, and live your life the way _you_ want, without worrying about what other people _expect_ you to do?"

Sansa could only stare for a long moment. "Actually, I know that feeling all too well," she said on a soft sigh. "So what is it that you want to do?"

"I don't know,"Arya said stubbornly. "But I want to figure it out myself."

Sansa nodded. "Alright."

Arya's head jerked up in surprise. "That's it?" she asked suspiciously.

Sansa smiled wryly. "When I first came back to King's Landing with King Aegon's army, he wanted to set my marriage to Tyrion aside and make me his queen. Lord Manderly wanted me to have the King set my marriage aside and then go to White Harbor, and let him be my guardian so that he could find me a proper and suitable husband. Ser Harry wanted me to have the King set my marriage aside so that I could marry him, and we'd rule the North and the East together. Everyone wanted me to be a good girl and do as I was told, and let them make all of the decisions for me. Even Tyrion assumed that I'd want our marriage set aside so that I could become queen. But he was also the only one who actually asked me what I wanted, and then listened when I answered. I know that I won't always make the right choices," she said. "I don't always know what to do and sometimes I'm scared witless. But Tyrion will let me try. He'll let me make my own choices, and be there to catch me if it all goes wrong. The least I can do is be the same for you. So go on, do what you want. Just keep in touch and know that if it all goes wrong, Tyrie and I will catch you." She hoped it was the right thing to say. She wanted Arya to know that for all they didn't agree, she actually did understand.

Arya stood stunned, staring mutely, then walked determinedly towards Sansa. Dropping to her knees, she pulled her sister into a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered fiercely.

Sansa returned the hug equally tight. "I love you, and I want you to be happy," she said, fighting tears. "But I've learned that happiness is something you have to find for yourself. No one else can do it for you. So go find your happiness."

"You did," Arya said, pulling away to study her sister's face. "You've found your happiness."

Sansa smiled, and nodded. "I have. Now it's your turn. Perhaps Gendry will be your happiness."

Arya blushed brightly even as she scoffed and rose to her feet. "Puh. No." She strode determinedly to the door, stopping just before she stepped out to look at her sister. "I love you, too." And she was gone, leaving Sansa smiling and feeling as though she'd won a victory.

 _ **And we have come to the end. Thank you to those of you who've stuck with me. Please keep an eye out, I'm working on a short story of Jamie, Brienne, and Myrcella's time after they left Westeros, and also a story of what Arya actually did in the almost year she was gone. I'm also working on a Star Trek:The Next Generation fanfic, so that's coming too.**_ __


End file.
